


Tea is for Teacher

by Recipe



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Cultural Differences, Drinking Games, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Missing Scene, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious My Unit | Byleth, Pining, Platonic Relationships, Poker Nights, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-13 09:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 110,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20580137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recipe/pseuds/Recipe
Summary: Her father never approved of her skills at the card table - said it wasn't honest work. Not like killing people for money, she supposed.(Byleth has to hustle on the side to fund the Golden Deer's tea addiction. Claude finds the class checkbook and realizes that the math doesn't add up.)





	1. T is for Test

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what this is. But seriously, why is tea so damn expensive in this game because I’m about to Boston Tea Party this bitch.

Byleth hated tea.

It was quite unfortunate that she'd find herself surrounded by those her father called "noble brats" with an affinity for teas that cost at least a thousand (a thousand!) gold pieces. Whoever said you couldn't put a price tag on friendship had clearly never seen her marketplace receipts at the tea stand.

It would be much cheaper to build the camaraderie she needed for her army by upgrading her silver sword and to threaten them all to get along, or else - with more than enough money leftover to hire battalions, too. But her class of "delicate flowers," to borrow Hilda's words, were too fragile and pampered for the mercenary way. No matter what Leonie thought she was ready for.

It was perhaps lucky that Byleth wore a poker face so naturally that none of her students knew of her distaste.

Or what she had to do to balance the Golden Deer checkbook to fund their flavored water addiction.

* * *

Having a natural poker face was also very conducive for, well, poker.

There was something comforting about the underground, with its dim lighting and the smoky haze from cigars clouding the room. And no one drank tea here.

Jeralt had been the one to introduce her to the underground gambling scene once during a job, though it was another mercenary in the crew that taught her the subtleties of cards. Byleth had taken to card counting like fish to water. Her father didn't particularly approve of her skills - said it wasn't honest work, not like killing people for money, she supposed - but he'd turn a blind eye when she came back home with a pocketful of gold whenever the break between jobs started to stretch and belt buckles started to tighten.

"Hey, pretty mama." A man with a gap toothed grin leered at her. "Looks like this table's heating up."

That was the other reason that Jeralt never liked her coming down here. Not that he thought she'd be taken advantage of - but that she might accidentally cause a little too much trouble with her sword in retaliation.

Byleth unstrapped the dagger she kept on her and threw it on the table as her ante. She could've picked another table, but this man looked like he wanted to be parted with his money.

"Ooh, feisty," the pervert crooned. "I like a mama that's feisty."

Byleth didn't deign to dignify that with a response.

"Piss off, Ernie," a gruff voice said, coming up beside Byleth and armed with a dirty dish towel. "You, miss - beer's five pieces and shots of spirits are ten."

Now _ those _ prices were perfectly reasonable.

Byleth dropped five coins into his outstretched hand. That was rule number two, the mercenary had taught her - no spirits at the card table. They make you forget the cards too quickly, and after that, they make you forget you're losing.

A man with a hat grunted and folded. The other, the one with the coat, fiddled with the cocktail straw in his glass a moment too long.

"Ehh, pish off yourshelf," the gap-toothed man slurred. "She don't mind, do ya, mama?"

He didn't have any good cards, she guessed. Byleth had met men who played the misogynist to try and goad her into betting more than she should, but this one didn't seem to be of the type. He seemed too far into his drink to be able to play mind games.

This round was hers.

* * *

"I find a lot of pleasure from eating sweets," Lysithea said over a cup of her sweet apple blend.

_ I know _ , Byleth thought. She always had to prepare a full jar of sugar whenever having tea with the young mage, and _ that _ ran the tea bill quite a bit higher by approximately the cost of an iron axe. She sipped her own tea - black, but still too sweet because the brew itself was too sweet - and tried not to grimace.

Lysithea suddenly looked annoyed, for some reason.

"Thanks for having me. Feel free to invite me again anytime," Lysithea said promptly, dismissing herself. Byleth watched her go, bewildered. She had thought the tea time had been going fine.

Did she do something wrong? Was Byleth supposed to have laughed or nodded to Lysithea's comments about having a sweet tooth? Was she not supposed to sip her tea?

No sooner had Byleth thought about reaching for Sothis' powers to rewind time and bring Lysithea back to the tea for a second attempt at building camaraderie did Sothis' voice chide her.

"You dare use my powers to make up for your social shortcomings?" Sothis asked, affronted. "How would you ever _ learn _ if I let you do that? She _ clearly _ was hoping for some form of positive encouragement while you just sat there and sipped your tea."

A bit of advice given too late, Byleth thought, now annoyed herself. She didn't notice Sothis chiming in to share her wisdom until Byleth had already done something wrong… with something as simple as drinking overly sweet tea that cost her more than it should. (The merchants were practically robbers for refusing to give her a discount for purchasing tea in bulk!)

Reading people in the underground was easy. Reading these students of hers though….

Byleth wasn't sure she'd ever understand them.

"Though you do work tirelessly to earn their trust," Sothis allowed, thinking over it slowly. "Perhaps if that seedy _ gentleman _ who calls you _ mama _ were ever to get lucky and take these children's tea money, _ that _ would be an appropriate occasion to turn the hands of time."

Byleth rolled her eyes. It wasn't likely she'd need to turn back time at the poker table. She knew how to account for a loss there.

"Or perhaps you can just fix the situation with your sword," Sothis mused. "That might be for the best."

_ I think I'm rubbing off on you, _ Byleth thought in response, snorting.

And _ that _ sentiment efficiently offended Sothis back into silence.

* * *

No one was better at haggling than Ashe, but even Ashe couldn't turn the allowance of three thousand gold pieces to cover this month's weapon upkeep and seals for her students to certify into a new class. And Byleth had no idea what Raphael did to leave his gauntlets in such poor shape, but they were so pitifully worn that neither her nor Ashe had the heart to haggle with the blacksmith's steep price for repair.

Let alone all the _ tea _ she needed to buy to keep their spirits up after Miklan's… transformation thing. Shit, how much tea did she have to buy until Sylvain would stop pretending that everything was fine?

(_ Shit _ , Byleth realized. How much tea would she have to force herself to _ drink _?)

"Going back to the underground?" Sothis asked, picking up on Byleth's stress.

Byleth looked at her calendar and shook her head. She'd have to, but this month's schedule was already running tight. She'd have to find a few evenings to sneak out between lesson plan preparation.

"You could always take the class to rout the bandits in the area. Their pockets are always heavy," Sothis suggested.

"Not so soon after that mission, I can't," Byleth said softly.

Sothis hummed, picking apart Byleth’s feelings. "You fear that forcing their hand to take more lives now will jade them to price of death," she observed.

Byleth nodded to herself. It should always hurt a little when one took a life, she thought.

They should at least resent death more than she resented tea.

She stood and pulled on her cloak. She'd just get a head start on the month by chancing her luck at cards tonight.

* * *

"What's your deal?"

Byleth looked to the speaker sitting beside her. The oversized man beside her made the poker cards look small in his hands.

She often didn't bother with a cover story. It was easier to avoid getting caught lying if one didn't talk at all. As a mercenary, she was constantly traveling anyways, and so forming connections in any one city's underground was unnecessary.

But now that she was stationed at Garreg Mach for the foreseeable future, it might be better to provide _ something _. The air of mystery that came from an absence of backstory could garner more attention than she wanted.

"Tell him you're a bandit," Sothis suggested. "Oh, I know! You can be a mercenary. You wouldn't even be lying!"

Byleth ignored Sothis. "Fell in a bit of a rough patch recently," she said simply to the man beside her.

"Rough patch!" Sothis exclaimed, laughing. "Is that what you call being a professor at an esteemed institution? Yes, for you who are so accustomed to the independent ways of the mercenary, I daresay it is!"

The oversized man didn't share in Sothis' amusement and merely grunted. Most everyone in the underground was there for a similar sentiment. "At least you're not one of those fools in here hoping to scrape some money without knowing how to play the game."

For a man as big as he was, Byleth was surprised to find that he was a conservative better. There was always something odd about the underground in that the better company Byleth found someone was, the less she cared to sit beside them. They were less willing to part with their money, and Byleth was less willing to take it from them.

The hours passed, and at last the man beside her groaned and gathered his remaining coins. “Lady Luck isn’t smiling upon me tonight in this dark corner of the world,” he grumbled. “Good on you though, wager there’s a full bullion in there.” He nodded at the small fortune that piled in front of Byleth.

Following his lead, Sothis began to stir in Byleth’s mind. “It’s late,” she yawned. “Don’t we have classes in the morning?”

_ A full bullion _, Byleth thought. A decent amount of coin for any normal commoner, but it wasn’t even enough for that rose petal blend that Lorenz and Hilda loved so much.

With a sigh, Byleth began to stack her coins as well. Maybe she could talk to Rhea about making this next month’s mission a journey to the town outside the monastery, where her students would have to learn how to balance a checkbook on a commoner’s paycheck.

* * *

Almyran pine needles were Claude's favorite. Byleth had a guess as to why, but she was not dumb enough to bring it up.

Of all the teas she's had to sample, this bitter herb blend ranked among her favorites. She still didn't enjoy it, though, and forced herself to take a polite sip.

"I'm glad you invited me here, Teach," Claude said, leaning in with his elbows on the table. Something about the way he took up space made every conversation with him feel oddly intimate. "I have to confess, I snuck a peek at the ledger while you were out to lunch."

Byleth recoiled. She kept the book of class housekeeping in her _ rooms, _ which meant the bastard -

"It was all I looked at, I swear! I wanted to see if we had any leftover budget to throw a surprise feast." He flashed her a winning smile. "You know, get people's spirits up, thank you for being such a good professor…"

Byleth's eyes narrowed. If this boy thought he could charm his way out of sneaking around behind her back…

Claude readjusted his stance. Byleth could practically see him shifting the gears in his head. "He has promise as a tactician," Sothis commented vaguely, noticing the same thing. "He could learn a lot from you."

He plowed onward. "Anyways, I noticed that some things in the book didn't add up." _ Ah _ , Byleth thought. _ He's moving onto the attack now. _ "But oddly enough, money wasn't being funnelled away. It was being funnelled _ in. _"

"How odd indeed," Byleth agreed mildly. "I'll have to double check my numbers."

But Claude wasn't done with the conversation. He swung his chair to the other side of the table to sit beside Byleth, his knees knocking against hers. "I've also noticed you disappearing at odd hours of the night," he said in a low voice before brightening and saying, "Come on, Teach. You know you can trust me."

Sothis giggled. For someone who claimed to have Byleth's best interests at heart, Sothis sure did enjoy chaos, Byleth thought bitterly. "Well, well," she said, delighted. "It seems like one of your students has done their homework."

Come to think, if there was one of her students who would do well in the underground, it would be Claude. He was already a fairly calculating and perceptive person, if the mock battle was anything to go by - though she'd have to wrangle out his propensity for cheating. Really, Byleth was concerned that he'd do _ too _ well.

Was this how her father felt about her when she'd taken to the tables?

Byleth speculated. She _ had _ just been complaining that she hadn't the time this month to make as many trips underground for supplemental income. It might even be good for him, given how averse Claude was to leaving things up to chance. Maybe he'd learn to be a little more flexible with losses. Maybe...

"Claude," she said, "what do you think I'm thinking right now?"

Claude furrowed his brow, green eyes scanning hers. "This is a test, isn't it?" 

Byleth rewarded him with a smile. "So it is," she acknowledged. "Congratulations, Claude. You've signed yourself up for some private tutoring."

* * *

She started off easy as they walked through the courtyard together.

"While staying by my side,” Byleth instructed as they slowed to a stop, “point out to me someone who is lying right now.”

Claude looked to her in surprise. Whatever he’d been expecting for private tutoring, this wasn’t it. But he quickly schooled his face back into an effortless smile and rolled his neck, saying, “Just one, Teach? You didn’t take me seriously when I told you to take it easy on me all those months back, did you?”

He winked at her. She ignored it.

“Do it subtly,” she reprimanded, even though she doubted that she needed to tell him that.

To his credit, Claude didn’t respond to her nag. His eyes scanned over his classmates in the courtyard, flitting between groups speculatively all while maintaining a blasé posture, hands folded together behind his head and leaning against a stone pillar.

“Well, there’s one,” Claude says, “if he counts.”

Claude made no motion to point at anyone - thankfully - but also gave no indication of who he was talking about. “Who?”

“Here’s a hint,” Claude said, grinning. “He goes around the battlefield saying _ I am Ferdinand von Aegir _.”

It was such a good impression of the redheaded noble from the Empire that Byleth let a bit of a laugh slip before she remembered that she was a professor and probably shouldn’t encourage her students mimicking other students. It was too late, though, and Claude’s grin widened, turning to look at her.

“Huh,” he mused. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before. It’s pleasant.” He leaned back into his hands. “You should laugh at my jokes more, Teach.”

She fought not to roll her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind when next I hear one,” Byleth said dryly. “Now, how is he lying?”

“You see how he keeps looking at Petra as she’s training?” Claude said. “He claims that it’s to observe foreign fighting techniques, which might’ve been true at some point, but now he’s just lying to himself.” 

That… was not at all what Byleth was expecting. Still, she’d let him ride out this train of thought. “How can you tell?”

Claude shrugged, trying to put intuition to words. “There’s a difference between a critical eye and a look of admiration,” he said. “Around Petra, he wears the latter.”

Byleth fixed her gaze on Ferdinand. Yes, he was watching Petra’s technique most astutely… but his eyes didn’t cling to the form of how she held her blade, or the steps of her footwork. Rather, his gaze flitted between it all, as if appreciating the overall effect of her fighting style instead of learning any specific component.

Byleth wondered how long Claude had noticed this for. It was impressive that he’d identified a lie in someone who didn’t know they were lying.

“All right,” Byleth said. “Come around my room next week. I trust you know where it is, since you’ve apparently welcomed yourself in before.”

He looked chagrined at that, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “I’ll revisit on invite only, I promise,” he said.

She doubted that, but said anyways, “See to it.” The Golden Deer house leader subscribed to the philosophy that closed doors were there to keep everyone _ else _ out, but he was smart enough to keep a reputation that didn’t involve sneaking into women’s bedrooms.

“And Claude?” she called before turning away. “Don’t bring tea.”

* * *

He arrived a few minutes early and mercifully empty-handed. “No tea,” he said, holding his hands up.

Byleth welcomed him in. She’d pulled her desk from its spot against the wall so that they could sit on either side of it. It left very little space to otherwise maneuver around, so she had to slide on top of the desk and swing her legs around to get the other side.

“Whoah, Teach,” Claude said, noticing the bottle of scotch that she’d put out on the desk. “Is that for tonight?”

She’d purchased the bottle shortly before being made a professor from her spare change working as a mercenary. It was a nice bottle, aged and pleasantly peaty - costing nearly as much as just one pot’s worth of tea leaves - that she’d kept hidden from her father, solely out of fear that Jeralt would drink it all if he found it.

She used to pour a glass from it after a particularly tiresome battle. She rarely partook from it nowadays.

“Inviting me to your room at night for extra credit, getting me liquored up…” Claude winked. “You didn’t have to go through this whole pretense if you just wanted to have your wicked way with me.”

_ Well, there goes that _. Byleth immediately poured herself a glass and wondered how in the world Claude could send her running to her whiskey in two sentences when otherwise it would have taken several armies of organized bandits.

“It’ll be the last invite you’ll see if you keep this up,” Byleth warned.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” He took a seat across from her, elbows on the table and leaning in like in one of their tea times. “I appreciate you having me here.”

That was the thing about Claude, Byleth had since realized. At times he seemed to take little seriously, but then there were these occasions when they were alone that he showed a bit of sincerity.

She hoped she wouldn’t be killing that sense of sincerity that sometimes slipped forward.

“There’s a game that the mercenaries used to play,” Byleth said, refilling her own glass and then pouring Claude his first, “that I thought we could try.”

Sothis stirred somewhere within her. “I will try my best not to question your tactics tonight,” the green-haired girl said in a tone of voice that guaranteed she _ would _ be chiming in with unwanted input throughout the evening, “but did you see the way the boy’s eyes lit up when you said the word _ game _? I fear that you do not realize what you have bargained for.”

“The rules are simple,” Byleth plowed on, ignoring Sothis. “We alternate sharing something about ourselves, and the other guesses if it’s a truth or a lie, taking a sip from their drink if they’re wrong.”

“That’s it?” Claude asked, when Byleth said no more.

“That’s it,” she confirmed.

He grinned. “Sounds like it’ll be a short evening for you.”

“That’s a lie,” Byleth returned, and Claude laughed and threw his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll start. The first time I threw a weapon, I was a toddler. A mercenary had thrown a dagger that hit my stuffed bear, and I was so angry, I picked it up and threw it back at him.”

Claude whistled. “Did you hit him?”

“I was a toddler,” Byleth said. “Of course not. He just laughed.”

He hummed to himself, thinking over the story and tracing his finger of the rim of his glass. “I desperately want this story to be true,” he said, “which makes me think it’s not.” He threw his hands up in the air and shook his head. “But you’ve gotta fight for what you believe in, right? I say the story’s true.”

Byleth raised an eyebrow but remained otherwise motionless.

Claude shifted in his seat uneasily. “It was a lie, wasn’t it? Was I wrong?” His hand was already bringing his glass to his face, ready to take his sip. “C’mon, Teach. Don’t leave me hanging here.”

Sothis laughed in her mind. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,” she said.

_ And you’re enjoying my amusement _, Byleth pointed out before finally giving in. “You were right,” Byleth acknowledged. “It’s your turn.”

“I knew it,” Claude said, even though he evidently knew nothing given his nervous monologue moments ago.

A sigh that wasn’t her own echoed in her mind. “He’ll need to learn to school himself better in moments of anticipation,” Sothis observed, disappointed. “I had thought he would know better.”

_ He’s comfortable with me, _ Byleth reminded Sothis. _ He’ll realize his mistake soon enough. _

“I’ll share a childhood story then as well,” Claude said. “I took my first steps not walking _ towards _ anything, but running _ away _ from something. I’d been caught smashing a clay pot in the garden and tried to escape from the scene of the crime.”

His grin was lifted higher on one side than the other as he leaned back, one arm slung around the back of the chair and the other resting on the table. It was his complete ease that told Byleth he was lying.

“Partial truth,” she said.

Claude tilted his head in acknowledgement. “So it is,” he agreed, impressed. “I was running away from having to take a bath. How’d you know?”

“Your shoulders tighten when you’re being honest,” she told him. He looked a little abashed at that, so she decided to continue. “It’s endearing.”

A flush colored his cheeks. Byleth supposed he wasn’t used to being called endearing. “See right through me, don’t you?” he said.

“It’s my turn.” Byleth surprised herself with how much she was looking forward to having Claude try and pick apart her lies. “I think Hilda is the laziest student at the monastery.”

Claude snorted. “Well, that’s just fact.”

“Drink,” Byleth said, leaning forward. “I think Linhardt is the laziest student at the monastery. Hilda puts effort in to be lazy.”

Claude cursed a little under his breath as he took a sip from his drink and hummed in appreciation.

“Drink,” Byleth said, relaxing back. “That last line was the real lie. Linhardt applies himself in his interests, but Hilda avoids responsibility altogether.”

“Wha - “ Claude sat up in his seat, affronted. “You can’t do that! Do you mean I just took a sip for being correct?”

“You drank pre-emptively is all,” Byleth said, smiling. She pretended not to notice how Claude always smiled whenever she did as well. “Always be hunting for the lie with this game.”

He leaned in - fingers folded, elbows on the table again. “Well, now that I understand the game,” Claude said, a smirk playing on his lips as he took a sip from his whiskey, “I hope you’re ready to _ play. _”

This, Byleth thought, was much better than tea time.


	2. T is for Tells

His fingers tapped on the rim of his teacup, a habit Byleth noticed that he'd picked up from their whiskey nights. She deeply regretted that they were here in the courtyard drinking tea in the afternoon, but Claude had insisted that they maintain some of their previous habits.

"It'd look odd if we stopped having tea while you still have tea with everyone else in the class," he'd said.

To which Byleth had thought - if she'd cared what others thought looked as odd, she wouldn't have invited one of her students into her room at night to drink scotch in the first place. But it was a sentiment she didn't express, because she was sure that Claude could come up with some suggestive remark that would make her sword hand itch.

Byleth briefly wondered if she spiked her tea with bourbon, it might be more palatable.

“It’s two in the afternoon!” Sothis said, affronted. “You can’t possibly be drinking whiskey this early!”

_ You’re not lessening that desire by half, _ Byleth retorted in her mind.

Claude sipped his tea. “By the way,” he said, “they’ve discovered a new kind of poison mushroom. When you eat it, your body exudes some kind of mysterious steam.” He cleared his throat. “Um, or so I’ve heard.”

Comments like these were exactly why Byleth never invited Claude to cook with her. Mercedes never said dubious sentences like these.

“Comments like those are exactly why you find Claude more interesting,” Sothis said to her with an air of disapproval in her voice.

_ Go back to sleep _, Byleth thought at Sothis.

And, before Sothis could scold her for commanding her to bed - she could already _ feel _ the indignation brewing - Byleth asked Claude, “Who’s the _ they _ that discovered this?”

“Trying to get me to reveal my secrets, huh, Teach?” Claude said with an easy grin. “Not going to get me in trouble, are you?”

Byleth leaned forward, gaze trained on the schemer before her. “No.”

Claude moved in as well, leaning on his elbows. “Now,” he said, “why don’t I believe you?”

Feigning an air of disappointment, Byleth flickered her gaze downward briefly. “I hope I haven’t broken your ability to trust with our games at night.”

“Don’t worry, Teach,” Claude said, sinking back into his seat with an arm casually slung around its back. “I never had an ability to trust to begin with.”

_ Partial truth, _Byleth thought. People who wore smiles as masks were not the type to have never trusted at all, but the type to have once trusted and once been betrayed. But much like Ferdinand's conviction that his curiosity towards Petra were purely educational, Claude had rewritten his narrative in his mind to have always been the physical embodiment of distrust.

"What?" Claude inquired when Byleth remained silent. "You look like you have something to say."

Byleth wasn't sure how much to share. "I find it odd that you say things like that," she admitted finally, resting her head on one hand.

"Why?" His grin was positively devious. "You don't think so?"

"Most people who practice deceit don't advertise it so blatantly," she said carefully. But Claude wore his distrust like a disclaimer, as if choosing to trust him despite his warnings awarded him full rights for manipulation.

"I've never done things the conventional way," Claude said, dismissing her observations. "You're a little like me in that way, wouldn't you say? We're both outsiders in this world."

Sothis laughed. "How cleverly he navigates away from your analysis of his personality," she mused. "I wonder why he so actively warns others away from him."

The green-haired girl who shared the real estate that was Byleth's body was an incredibly nosy person, she noticed. Personally, she didn't care to uncover other people's secrets, so long as she understood them enough to know how to handle them appropriately. Let them keep what they were afraid to share.

But Byleth did wonder absently what Claude's underlying motives were. They must be dangerous, for him to hold his cards so close to his chest.

She'd have to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't tangle himself in his own webs.

* * *

Somewhere in between playing cards for spare cash, sipping every uncalled for blend under the sky with her students, and preparing Claude for the underground, Byleth had to actually teach.

Ah, yes. The job she never asked for, and given her prior experience, the job she was totally underqualified for - not to mention a job with worse hours and paid less than her mercenary gig. She had silently cheered Seteth on as he protested her appointment of the position. Dislike her though he may, Seteth had cemented himself in Byleth's good graces on that act alone.

Alois, however, had much to redeem himself for recommending her for the role in the first place.

“Come,” Sothis reprimanded. “Be not so negative. Your skills have diversified since arriving at the monastery.”

It was true. Manuela had been teaching Byleth some white magic on their free days to help Byleth better instruct her own burgeoning mages. It wasn't something Byleth had ever considered, but she was finding that she was increasingly enjoying the study.

"Now, why don't you pair Hilda and Marianne for the group task this week? I do love seeing them grow together," Sothis said.

While Sothis had an eye for fostering relationships in a way Byleth didn't, she didn't have a mind for maths. At least, not in the way Byleth did.

"Someone's crunching numbers," a familiar voice said. Shamir slid into view, taking up the seat across. "What, are you betting on horses or something?" She leaned in and dropped her voice. "Because if so, I've got some intel that Gallop Mach isn’t doing as well as the odds say.”

“Gallop Mach,” Byleth repeated with distaste. “That’s a crime of a name if I’ve ever heard one.”

Shamir chuckled and took a sip of her beer. “All the racehorses have... eccentric names,” she said. “I take it you’re not a better, then?”

“Not on horses,” Byleth answered. She shuffled around the spreadsheets that she’d been pouring over. “These are lesson plans.”

“Lesson plans?” Shamir echoed, one eyebrow arched. “They’re unlike anything I’ve seen on Manuela’s or Hanneman’s desks.”

Byleth could hear the unasked question. She hadn’t known Shamir had a penchant for gambling until just now, but it made sense - the knight was a calculated assassin but still enjoyed the romance of chance. While Byleth herself didn’t enjoy horse racing - she didn’t trust the odds and making connections with the right people for more information wasn’t her, ah, strength - the sport did betray an interest in numbers.

“I’m taking into account each student’s interests and what class I think they can excel in,” Byleth explained, showing her the notes. “This is Hilda’s.”

“That bubble-gum of a girl?” Shamir said, taking the sheet from Byleth gingerly as if just handling Hilda’s lesson plan would rub off some of that giddy girliness onto her.

Sothis laughed. “You felt similarly at first,” she reminded Byleth, almost a little smugly. “You might not admit it, but amidst all the tea times, your students have grown on you.”

_ I wouldn’t take it _ that _ far, _ Byleth thought to Sothis as she responded to Shamir. “She’s actually very good with an axe,” she said. “She’s well set up to become a Wyvern Lord. She’s strong, but doesn’t do too well when she takes a hit.” Byleth pointed at two columns on the table. “I’m trying to decide if I should have her as an Armored Knight to build up her defenses, or if I should lean into a focus on agility and avoid that route altogether. I’ve written down the odds of how each track might project.”

“Impressive,” Shamir commended, handing back the sheet. “You have quite the eye for quantifying fighting ability.”

"Thank you," Byleth said, stacking her plans back together. It was a skill she was proud of, honed by tactical studies over the years. "What brings you here?"

Shamir sighed, setting her drink down. “With Flayn’s disappearance, I thought I’d keep an ear low to the ground when I can,” she said. “Not many at Garreg Mach know how to traverse these back alleyways, but I suppose the same doesn’t extend to you.”

"Jeralt is my father," Byleth said simply. "I grew up in pubs like these." The sticky floors and uneven tables felt more like home to her than the stone walls of the monastery ever could. In fact, having moved around so much in their migrant lifestyle, pubs were probably the closest notion to home that she's ever had.

Shamir laughed. "Your little nobles don't know how lucky they are to have you."

In her mind, Byleth can hear Sothis laugh as well. "I'm not sure how much _ luck _ has to do with it," Sothis said cryptically, but then she yawned and fell asleep before Byleth could inquire further, because apparently the girl had a constitution that would make Linhardt jealous - but only when she said something of interest.

Figured.

* * *

“That bubble-gum of a girl,” despite what Sothis said about her students growing on her, was incredibly trying.

“_ Professor _,” Hilda started with her tell-tale whine, “I really don’t understand why you keep pulling me into battle next to you. I’m only slowing you down, I can tell. You’d be better off if you didn’t have to worry about dragging me around.”

There was a time when a sharp look would quell Hilda’s tirade, but somewhere in all that expensive camaraderie tea sessions, Hilda had warmed up to Byleth enough where it was no longer the case. If Hilda had applied her go-getter attitude to anything else, Byleth would’ve been impressed with the pink-haired noble’s assertiveness. People who refused to take no for an answer were useful in their own right.

Unfortunately, Hilda applied her go-getter attitude to getting as little work assigned to her as possible.

Byleth missed the days when she could silence Hilda with a glare.

“You’ve got to cut her off early, Teach,” Claude said in a loud whisper, as if conspiring with her. “She’ll keep going on forever if you don’t.”

Hilda looked archly over at Claude. “And I know _ Claude _ here would _ love _ to be assigned a position on the battlefield as close to you as possible. And perhaps not just on the battlefield - ”

Claude flushed. “And perhaps Teach is a seasoned tactician and we shouldn’t question her methods too much - ” he started quickly.

“Perhaps I’ve invited you two over here for a meal, and I want it to be eaten while it’s still warm,” Byleth said. The conversation seemed like it was spiralling into prime bickering territory for Claude and Hilda, who each seemed to thrive off of teasing the other, and she needed to reel it back in. Besides, she _ paid _ for this pheasant that was supposedly among both of their favorite meals, and they would clean their plates, so help her.

Next time, she was _ definitely _ listening to Sothis about pairing Hilda and Marianne for a meal. 

“Hilda, I want you close to me so I can make sure you’re not taking a nap in the shrubbery when you should be fighting,” Byleth said as they obediently started to dig into their food. “Also, you’re the best with an axe in the class and I believe you would learn a lot from being in front-line combat where I can still protect you if things go poorly.”

Hilda looked a little flustered at the honesty, but there was still a bit of fight left in her, as if the thought of being the best in the class at something outside of beauty pageantry was frightening enough to give her a second wind. “But Professor,” she said, “what about Claude? I still think he'd do much better - ”

“He’s an archer,” Byleth said. “He can shoot from the rear.”

Claude, who had been drinking from his water glass, started coughing. “Ah - erm - ”

Byleth pressed on. There was a reason she’d decided to dine with both Claude and Hilda today, and she’d see her purpose through, because heavens knew that she didn’t have the constitution to put up with their combined antics a second time.

“Claude can rotate into the front lines once he’s more comfortable with close combat,” she said. “In fact, you two should train with each other. Hilda, I’d appreciate it if you could help instruct Claude around handling axes. A few tips from you could go a long way.”

This definitely tipped Hilda over the edge, as she looked positively alarmed now. “Wha - ?” she started, eyes wide. “Oh, no, Professor, you wouldn’t want me to teach anyone anything. I’d only disappoint you - ”

“You’ll disappoint me only if you don’t try,” Byleth said, cutting into her pheasant.

And in an uncharacteristic move, Hilda fell silent, which alarmed Byleth enough to look up. The girl looked absolutely distraught as she pushed the pieces of her meal around her plate, and it made Byleth realize that maybe it wasn’t pure laziness that stilled Hilda’s hand, but a fear of failure.

Byleth was at a loss. Fearing failure was a luxury she couldn’t afford growing up, and she wasn’t sure how to step around the insecurities that she’d only just realized Hilda had harbored.

“Aww, is the idea of training with me really that abhorrent?” Claude said, thankfully easing his way in. “I promise not to accidentally chop your fingers off or anything.”

“You can’t promise to prevent an accident, that’s why they’re called _ accidents _,” Hilda retorted under her breath, but much of her earlier boisterous attitude was gone.

Sothis clucked her tongue in Byleth’s ear. “Speak of something to ease her mind,” she said. “The child clearly values your opinion of her and is unaccustomed to your demands.”

_ But speak of what? _ Though Hilda’s fears were something Byleth understood, they were hardly something she could relate to.

But if she could perhaps spin the scenario…

“I’d train Claude myself, but I’m not as familiar with the axe as I am the sword,” Byleth said. She set her silverware down on the table and folded her arms behind her plate, leaning in. “The first time my father handed me an axe, it was heavier than I expected, and I dropped it on my own foot. I couldn’t walk for several days. He decided that I was to stick with swords after that.”

“Oh Professor, that didn’t happen,” Hilda dismissed, but she giggled a bit all the same. Claude smirked but remained silent.

“Have you seen me wield an axe in battle?” Byleth returned. When Hilda faltered, Byleth continued as an afterthought, “Best not share that story with Leonie, though.” Who knew what that student of hers who was uncomfortably obsessed with her father would do in a quest to win Jeralt’s affection.

Hilda breathed in deeply and exhaled, a loud sigh that was just the touch of overdramatic that made Byleth think she was feeling better. “Well, Professor, if going near axes would endanger you again, I _ suppose _ I could help Claude at least a little with his form.”

“I’ll be a star pupil, I swear,” Claude said, throwing Hilda a wink. “Though Teach, if you ever want to hang back and shoot from the rear with me, you can give my bowstring a tug - ”

Byleth stood up and took her meal with her. She thought she spotted Lorenz and Raphael in the dining hall together, perhaps she could join them for the remainder of her meal instead.

But as she made her way over, she thought she saw Hilda punch Claude in the arm with the technique fit for a brawler - followed by a short squeal of pain from Claude - and it made her smile.

* * *

"So, Byleth," Manuela drawled. "Is there a special someone in _ your _ life?"

For fuck’s sake. Was this inquisition the reward for patiently sitting through Manuela's long winding parables on her love life?

"I hardly have time to spend on romance," she said evenly. Between all the things she had to do for her students, where did Manuela think that Byleth had enough time to spend on herself?

Perhaps she did, given the number of classes Byleth had to cover for her coworker when Manuela had shut herself up in her room after a date gone wrong.

"And she doesn't know about your excursions for supplemental tea income," reminded Sothis. Byleth was surprised to hear a note of pride in Sothis' voice, as if commending her for her dedication.

Manuela's laugh was a theatrical one. "Oh, on the contrary, I think you have _ plenty _ of time. You're still so young, whereas I…." She sighed dramatically, and just when Byleth thought she was about to launch into another tale - Byleth was moments away from begging Sothis for help coming up with an excuse to extract herself from the conversation - Manuela frowned. "Just how old are you, anyways?"

Her age was a topic of great interest since she moved to the monastery, she noticed. No one cared about age as a mercenary, just how well you could wield your blade.

It was probably for the best that age wasn't a topic of discussion, lest a fixation on the number of young lives the mercenary career claimed sully their moods.

Maybe she should try to instill a bit of that mindset into Lysithea, Byleth thought errantly.

"Old enough to be offended by the question," Byleth deflected.

Manuela giggled. "I won't tell," she said conspiratorially and winked, but she let the topic drop. Perhaps that was a subject that hit a little too close to home for the older woman. "However, I do hope you're taking care of yourself, dear. Stress does age a woman. The past few months I fear are running you ragged and I'd hate to see you in my infirmary."

The concern knitting Manuela's eyebrows was genuine, and it made Byleth frown. Did she look as tired as she sometimes felt? It was hard to tell, sometimes, whose exhaustion rattled her bones - her own, or Sothis'.

"It's been an exceptionally trying year so far it seems," Manuela continued when Byleth remained silent. "Hanneman and I don't often see eye to eye, but we both want the best for you at Garreg Mach."

Byleth studied Manuela. There was something ironic in that the woman charged in taking care of others barely knew how to take care of herself, and there’d been more than one account of finding Manuela passed out snoring in her own infirmary bed after too much drink. There was something even more horrifying in that this was the woman, of all people, asking after Byleth’s health.

"Perhaps some people are better at loving others than loving themselves," Sothis suggested.

And Byleth was inclined to agree with her, because despite it all, Byleth felt oddly touched.

* * *

He was confident in his hand, made cocky perhaps by the small fortune of tokens that Byleth had let amass in front of him. It was unfortunate for Claude that Byleth had a flush.

The archer looked down at the five face-up cards sitting between them. Today she’d taught him a different variation from the five-card draw they’d played last week to familiarize him with the hands, and it concerned Byleth only a little how quickly he picked up on the game.

Byleth leaned forward and raised his raise, watching him.

His lips turned upward as he called. It took her aback slightly, his smile - it wasn’t his usual one of faked cheer, but almost… _ wolfish _. For a moment, it made him look a little older than he was, and it charged the air with something exciting.

She called.

Claude flipped his cards over, revealing pocket aces. Three pair.

Byleth smiled. Claude's own grin slipped.

"No," he said. "There's no chance that you - "

Byleth revealed her own two cards: club queen and club ten.

Claude cursed under his breath, running a hand through messy hair as Byleth raked in her reward. She didn't say anything, waiting for him to connect the dots of the trap she'd laid, idly stacking her tokens. She always liked the sound they made when they clacked against each other.

"That forward lean - that was never your tell, was it," Claude said, more of a statement than a question. His gaze was focused somewhere to her right, scratching his chin in thought. "You let me win the battles so you could win the war."

Byleth nodded. "I weaponized your confidence to my advantage," she said, and if perhaps a bit of a teasing grin split her lips, Sothis didn't call her out on it.

"You weaponized my - " Claude started in disbelief before cutting himself off, shaking his head. “I gotta hand it to you Teach, you’re something else.” He paused. “But you didn’t really drop an axe on your foot like you told Hilda, did you?”

“No. Never dropped an axe on my foot. Just prefer the sword.” She reached below her desk and pulled out two glasses, pouring a generous three fingers each. “Cheers. You did well.”

“Not well enough,” Claude said. “I still played right into your hand.”

“You’ll learn,” Byleth said, assured.

Claude hummed thoughtfully, fingers tapping at his glass again. “So, this is how you make the extra income is it?” he said. A sudden grin split his lips. “You don’t play against the other professors, do you?”

Byleth knitted her brows. “No, I don’t gamble on premises.” She hesitated. “Except for these evenings with you.”

“Ah, that’s a pity,” he said, that wicked grin still present. “I would’ve loved to hear that you were siphoning away all the funds from the Black Eagles and Blue Lions by trouncing Professor Manuela and Hanneman at cards.” He sighed, building a fantasy in his mind. “It’d be one way to win at the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion for sure.”

“By depriving the other students of the funds to their education?” Byleth summarized dryly.

Claude laughed. “Hey, don’t give me that look!” he said. “It was just a thought!”

“Let’s stick with poison as the alternative,” Byleth said, taking a sip from her glass.

That was something Claude willingly toasted to. “You’re the boss, Teach. But I'm starting to get the feeling that we don't need to resort to those tactics with you leading us."

And there it was again, that glimmer of faith that Claude sometimes flashed her way that thawed something within her. With her students, she was faced with something different from the trust and respect she’d experienced with the other mercenaries, but what the exact quality was that warmed her, Byleth struggled to articulate. And Claude shared those moments so passingly that each felt infinitely precious.

She shook her head clear. “You’re just now starting to think that?” she said instead, opting for something a little more light-hearted. “This is why Lysithea’s at the top of the class.”

Claude clutched at his heart, the night’s defeat at cards clearly doing nothing to dampen is tendency towards theatrics. “Ouch, Teach,” he said, “you really are a ruthless killer, aren’t you? Have a little respect for my ego!”

“Well then, you’d have to start learning a lot quicker,” Byleth returned, her face betraying no emotion. “You’ve got a long way to go if you want to make it in the underground rings.”


	3. T is for Training

Despite herself, Byleth liked Ignatz.

By all rights, she shouldn’t. What the boy lacked in strength he made up for in artistic talent, which had... decidedly fewer applications on the battlefield. Coupled with his lack of self confidence, he'd be the last to be drafted into any mercenary crew from specs alone.

But he was polite and earnest and he worked hard even when he didn’t believe in himself, and honestly - Byleth appreciated his quiet air. It was a welcome break from the overbearing attitudes of some of her noble students.

Raphael, on the other hand, was a mountain of a man, with such simple but pure intentions that frustrated Byleth in that it kept her from being frustrated with his simpleness.

Like the present, for example, when Raphael was barking chirping sounds at a tree.

"Ignatz," Byleth said politely, "can you help me understand what Raphael is doing?"

"Professor!" Ignatz said, startled. He hazarded a glance behind him, where Raphael's loud "chirp chirp chirpee chirp" was resonating from. "Um, who can really say? It looks like he's trying to talk to birds - "

He broke off, looking behind Byleth before back to her again, fidgeting. "Do you have someplace to be? I didn't realize," she said. She hadn't meant to interrupt him if he were busy. She was busy herself, anyways, distracted only for the moment with something between curiosity and confoundment.

"No, I'm not - I mean, I have to go, umm…" Ignatz looked helplessly around him.

Byleth frowned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine! Really!" Ignatz said hastily. "I just…" He exhaled a long sigh, exhaustion briefly tugging at the corners of his eyes. "Professor, can I speak with you? In private?"

There was little she could say no to, when it came to Ignatz and Marianne. Byleth wanted to encourage their assertion, whenever the opportunity arose - which was rare, since they asked for so little.

Her plans would have to wait.

"Of course." She steeled herself. "Would you care to join me for tea?"

* * *

Byleth truly, madly, deeply hated lavender blend.

If she wanted to drink what tasted like watery perfume, she would - well, she wouldn't know what she would do, because the idea of having such a desire to drink perfume was so foreign that she couldn't wrap her mind around the concept. 

But Ignatz was delighted to find that she still had his favorite tea in stock (as if Byleth would ever touch that stuff if it weren't in his company), and Byleth had to remind herself that sipping lavender was a worthwhile price to bring a little joy to Ignatz's life.

"Thanks for having me, Professor."

Byleth nodded and leaned in over open hands on the table. She found that if she used a more engaged body language, it was less obvious that she wasn't drinking as much tea. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Ignatz said quickly. Whatever desperation had moved him to seek sanctuary with Byleth had petered, and the courage that it brought had petered with it.

_ Hell, no.  _ She wasn't going to let him get away so easily. She wasn't going to sip at this tea for nothing.

The best way to make people talk sometimes, she'd long since learned, was to not talk herself. There were many different types of silence, and Byleth was more familiar with communicating via quiet than she was with words.

For Ignatz, she picked a slightly uncomfortable silence, one with prolonged eye contact but open posture with her arms.

It didn’t take long before Ignatz started shifting uneasily. "Well, it's not nothing," he corrected hurriedly, words spilling to fill the void as he looked to the floor. "But it's silly, and it - " He broke off, taking a deep breath. “Professor, have you ever… been the reason that someone died?"

Well, that was certainly a loaded question for any mercenary. Of course she'd been the reason that many people died - she'd been the one to kill them. And like it or not, he would one day be able to say the same, if he truly were to become the knight he said he wanted to become. 

But Byleth doubted that was the response Ignatz was searching for, though, so she refrained and said instead, "I'm not sure I follow. What do you mean?"

“Like - “ He forced every word out. “Someone was meant to die, but someone else took their place.”

Unlike Hilda, whose eyes had been uncharacteristically downcast in her insecurity, Ignatz was looking to Byleth with such a mix of hope and fear that she found herself at a loss of words.

While this level of trust was exactly what she’d hoped tea time would bring about, it was quite another to live through these conversations that trust encouraged. Perhaps -

Sothis snapped, “Don’t you even think about using my power to rewind time. It is not to be employed lightly.”

Byleth sighed, in part as a response to Sothis and in part as a response to Ignatz. “Death isn't a bartering system, Ignatz,” she said. It was certainly an interesting perspective, though, and she could see how the son of a merchant might rationalize the loss of life in terms of exchanges.

"But if someone  _ was _ going to die…" He trailed off.

She studied the mousy boy before her. This wasn't a quandary of moral philosophy, she realized. There was something specific that plagued him. "Who was meant to die?"

The breath Ignatz had been holding deflated within him. "My parents."

"And who died in their place?"

He struggled over the syllables. "Raphael's parents."

_ Ah _ . 

It was her turn, now, to struggle to articulate. She was too jaded to reassure someone so green. But if there were someone who could perhaps help… 

Could it be Raphael?

Raphael, who laughed loudly and chirped at trees for whatever goddess-forsaken reason, who would share a meal with anyone, who needed to be the one to ease Ignatz's concerns about death. He was warm in a way that Byleth could never be, but frank enough to put worries to rest.

"Sometimes what we feel isn't grounded in reality," she said slowly.

Byleth stood and went to her tea stores. She kept them in a tightly closed container buried under several towels, and when she finally eased the lid off, the myriad of aronas she tried to keep stifled hit her all at once. She tried not to cough, holding her breath as she rifled through the satchels. "Take some leaves with you. Share them with Raphael."

His eyes were wide. "Professor, I can't. Raphael will - "

"You can't speak for Raphael until you've listened to Raphael," Byleth interrupted, perhaps a little sharper than she intended, if Sothis' mental nudge was anything to go by. "I'll… still be here. Even afterwards. And… I'll still have tea," she continued, a little brokenly as she searched for the unfamiliar words of comfort. She shook her head to clear her frustration with herself. "But I'm not the one who can lay this to rest for you."

Ignatz looked dubious. "All right, Professor," he said anyways, collecting the almond tea she offered. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you for listening."

"You're just trying to get them to drink tea with each other so you don't have to," Sothis accused, but amusement dulled the edge of her tone.

"Two birds, one stone," Byleth said softly, watching Ignatz go.

* * *

"Now that's a generous pour, Teach. You really are the daughter of Jeralt Eisner, no matter what they say."

Byleth didn't refrain from rolling her eyes this time. Being a source of emotional stability for others was a new job requirement in her transition from mercenary to professor, and while she would do her best to fulfill it and see Ignatz grow his confidence - damn, was it exhausting. Playing friend and mentor wasn't among her skillsets, especially given that she wasn't really sure that she knew what a friend was and the closest thing she had to a mentor was her stoic, alcoholic father.

" _ You _ are the source of half the rumors that I'm descended from Nemesis, I'm sure," Byleth said dryly. She didn't particularly care about the gossip swirling about her heritage in light of her crest's identification and the Sword of the Creator that was now permanently strapped to her side. She was used to being a conversation topic, and Byleth couldn't be bothered to care what they thought of her. It never changed the truth of things - even if she wasn't always sure of the truth herself.

Though it did provide some amusement when she stumbled across some of the more outlandish theories.

Sothis's laughter echoed clear and ringing. "Oh, yes," she agreed. "I particularly liked the theory that your mother is truly Nemesis, who became a woman when history thought he died."

Her mother, whose identity was obscured, invited much speculation as of late - alongside questions about Jeralt as her father. 

"C'mon. Give me a little credit," Claude said, stretching out on his chair. “What would be the tactical advantage for me spreading rumors like that?”

“Don’t pretend that you weren’t the one who was most interested when I acquired this sword,” she said, gesturing to the legendary blade.

He laughed and raised his arms in defeat. “All right, you got me. You’re a hard one to keep secrets from, Teach,” he said. “But you have to admit, the stories around the blade you wield… it’s a fascinating subject.”

One thing Claude was supremely skilled at, Byleth noticed, was making easy admissions when he’d been caught. It alluded to the idea that his secrets were revealed, but he still controlled the concession of how  _ much _ of his secrets were discovered. While the months had warmed him towards her, Byleth was under no misconception that he might view her as something closer to a friend than an ally.

“Enough about the sword,” she said, brushing past the subject to Sothis’ dismay. “Are we playing tonight?”

Claude quirked an eyebrow playfully. “Of course. I still haven’t figured out your tell yet.”

Byleth shuffled the deck and dealt a hand as Claude counted chips out, after which she double-counted her chips and then double-counted his as well. He didn’t attempt anything tonight, but last week, she’d had to flick an extra ten that he’d given himself off the table. It was an obvious cheat - it seemed more like a test to Byleth than anything - but she was sure she’d have to watch his sleeves tonight for any pocketed cards.

“I didn’t think we’d save Flayn in time,” Byleth started, sliding her blind into the center of the table.

Claude’s eyes flicked from his cards to catch hers. He mulled it over for a while before decisively pushing in his blind, saying, “Truth.”

_ A two and a four, off suit _ . What a starting hand. Byleth folded and tossed her cards in. “You’re right,” she said. “How’d you guess?”

“It’s an interesting story to pick, if it were false,” Claude said, shuffling the deck as Byleth stacked her blind for the next hand. “Plus, you rely more on numbers than instinct. And the odds for a girl gone missing for the better part of the month weren’t good.”

Sothis laughed again, and Byleth smiled as well. “He does pin you well,” Sothis commended.

“Touché,” Byleth said. It was humbling to learn that Manuela had been the first to suspect Jeritza and take action, while Byleth was still running around the monastery chasing down leads. While Byleth never thought that her fellow professor was dumb (albeit…  _ silly _ , that was a kind word to use), she also never fancied the songstress to be particulary wise. But now, she was forced to acknowledge that Manuela understood more than Byleth assumed of her. Manuela was just impulsive to a fault.

A counterbalance, perhaps, to Byleth’s tendency towards spreadsheets and equations.

She shook her head clear of thoughts as she checked her new hand, peeling the corners of the cards up: a queen and a nine, off suit.

“I didn’t think we’d save her, either,” Claude said, calling.

Byleth studied him. Where Byleth was impassive, Claude was expressive - but he wore emotions like others adorn accessories, picking the best for the situation. During the past month, he’d spoken to his housemates much the contrary, reassuring them that they would find the green-haired girl with an alarming fondness for fish. But those were the words of a house leader, and not necessarily the words of Claude himself.

“Truth,” she said.

Claude smiled, and it lit his eyes. If there were one thing that never failed to produce a genuine smile upon his face, it was winning. “Drink up, Teach,” he said. “Some of us still have a little faith in this broken world of ours.”

“You truly believed it?” Byleth asked, surprised. She took a deep sip. Perhaps she was more jaded than she thought.

“I did,” he affirmed, dealing the next three cards. An eight, a four, and a queen. “I’ll admit it sounds silly, especially when I can’t explain it. But I really didn’t believe she’d died.”

Byleth thought she might explain it. It was the innocence of youth, of someone who was still new to bloodshed on his hands - that glimmer of something genuine that she sometimes caught when he wasn’t busy hiding behind his many masks.

She tapped on the table, and Claude dealt the next card. A ten. She raised a modest number of tokens, which he called.

“The worst trouble I’d ever gotten in was also my first time in a skirmish,” Byleth said, moving on to the next scenario. “I’d disguised myself and snuck in with the mercenary crew to fight alongside them because I was tired of being left behind. I was rationed on slops for weeks.”

Claude laughed. “Your worst punishment was being put on a diet?” he said in disbelief. She merely smiled in response, and Claude shook his head. “It’s so ridiculous, it sounds like something you might’ve actually done. I’ll vote truth with this one.”

He flipped over the last card, a two. “Drink,” Byleth said. “Disguising myself onto the active crew sounds a little too underhanded for me, don’t you think?”

Claude cursed under his breath, the sound distorted by the whiskey glass. “How did you get deployed your first time, then?”

“I dueled my way in,” Byleth said. She flipped over her hand. “What have you got?”

“Two pair,” he said, revealing a four and a ten and a smile that was sharp around the edges. “You know, I enjoy hearing about your childhood. It’s so vastly different than my own, and yet… I can imagine it so clearly, like I really understand it.”

Byleth sighed, taking the deck as Claude swept in his second round of winnings. “You understand how poor your starting hand was, don’t you?” It wasn’t a large loss by any means, but the schemer was improving with every session. “And I feel much the same when I hear stories from your past.”

“I know, yeah. You’ve told me before about how the odds change with the number of players at the table,” he said, leaving his blind behind on the table as he organized his chips. “And if you do feel that way, then I’ll oblige you with such a story. It is a nobleman’s duty, after all,” he finished with a startlingly accurate impression of Lorenz that made Byleth choke on her drink.

The alcohol burned the back of her throat while Claude sat, looking delightedly smug about having evoked such a response from her. “You shouldn’t mimic the other students like that,” she reprimanded, her voice cracking from scotch that had made its home in her nasal passageways.

“Aww, not even to hear your laughter again?” he teased, flashing a charming grin at her.

“I might never be able to laugh again if I can’t find  _ water _ ,” Byleth said hoarsely, massaging her tear ducts. “Get me a glass before I decide to write you up for assault.”

“You couldn’t write me up for that. It would imply that I managed to best you in a duel,” Claude said flippantly.

But he did get up to fetch her the glass she’d demanded for, which was really the least he could do after weaponizing her own scotch against her.

She would laugh at that, the idea of it - that where she’d weaponized his confidence and his strengths to her advantage, he’d weaponized her vices, even if by mere accident.

She would laugh, if it wouldn’t hurt so much to do it at the moment.

* * *

“Teach, wielder of the Sword of the Creator, felled by laughter and a drop of scotch,” Claude proclaimed theatrically, a light rosy tinge on his cheeks from the whiskey. The deck of cards had been put away and the chips stacked out of sight, and now all that sat between them were two empty glasses.

“Claude, the heir to the Alliance, felled by the aforementioned sword,” Byleth bit back, a bit of warmth mirrored on her own face.

“Your words cut deeper than your blade,” he said with mock woundedness.

Byleth moved past his antics that seemed to only amplify with liquor. Why, therefore, she kept feeding it to him, was beyond her. Perhaps she should ask Manuela to share a bit of that newfound wisdom of hers.

“Do you have any clothing with you at the monastery that’s a little more…” She looked to his uniform, brightly colored with yellows. “Nondescript?”

Claude paused in his dramatics, confused. “You’re not actually plotting on how to disguise my corpse already, are you?”

Right. Perhaps she should have explained herself first. Traversing conversations was hard enough even before several glasses of scotch.

“I think it’s time for you to experience the underground,” Byleth said. “But you’ll want to put on something less  _ identifiable. _ ”

His brows knitted as he leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. “The underground? But I still haven’t figured out your tells yet.” Claude shook his head. “I really should’ve known better about your fake tell. When you leaned forward, it was almost…” He paused, searching for the correct word that hid behind the alcohol haze.

“Exaggerated?” Byleth supposed. She hoped it wasn’t exaggerated.

“ _ Predatory _ ,” Claude finished, looking triumphant that he’d placed what he was looking for. “It’s actually kind of h - ” He cut himself off and looked away, the flush on his cheeks deepening.

“Humanizing?” Byleth tried again, though it didn’t make any sense in context.

“No, it’s - well, anyways, what were you saying?” he said, the glow on his cheeks stubbornly persistent.

“Right.” What had she been saying? “You can’t go into the underground as yourself. That’s the first rule. Especially true since you’re a noble, no matter how much you say you’re not like one. So we’ll need to figure out a character for you that fits with your poker playing style.”

“And an outfit to go with the character,” Claude concluded. “You really shouldn’t have started the conversation with that part.”

Living with another sentient being in her mind had trained Byleth to be particularly adept at ignoring commentary. “Yes, we’ll need the full ensemble of the character you’ll be. Do you have any thoughts?”

Claude hummed, tapping a finger to his lips. “What character do you pretend to be?”

“I rarely stay in one city long enough to need to build a personality,” Byleth said, “and I’m only ever a commoner. But you have a much more… vivacious style of play than I.”

“So you’re saying I need to be a vivacious person… that doesn’t draw attention,” Claude summarized. “Great. Got it. Couldn’t be clearer.”

His banter was endearing when she let herself relax, Byleth thought. Both she and her father suffered from being too serious as a default, tending to use humor as a tool rather than a way of expression. At times she found herself fascinated by those like Claude who so easily maintained an air of levity.

“Sometimes it’s easier to start with what clothes you have,” Byleth suggested.

“Not much,” Claude admitted, “that wouldn’t immediately give away my status. I didn’t exactly ride to the monastery wearing my peasant’s outfit. I left that look in my closet back home in Derdriu, I’m afraid.”

“Did I say you needed to be poor?” Byleth said archly. She almost started reaching for her whiskey before she remembered she’d already finished it. “You’re allowed to be rich. You just can’t be the grandson of the Duke of House Riegan.”

“Hmm,” Claude said, squinting his eyes as he peered into the distance in thought. “What about pretending to be the great-grandson of the duke?”

She absolutely would not give him the pleasure of smiling at another one of his jokes after what happened with the scotch prior. “ _ Claude _ .”

He smiled for her and winked. “Don’t worry, Teach. I’ll come up with a good character for you. It won’t be my first time pretending to be somebody.”

Their glasses were empty, but Byleth said anyways, “Truth.”

Claude laughed. “No need for a refill,” he said. “You nailed that one on the head.”

He sighed with a contentment that mirrored Byleth’s own, stretching out on the hind legs of his chair before collecting his limbs again. “Anyways, it’s getting late. I should get going. I’ve got classes tomorrow, and my professor is a serious one who’s said before that she’d kill me with her own sword, so I can’t be late.” He smiled cheekily and stood to leave. “Thanks for having me, Teach. It was a good game, even if I lost in the end.”

“It was a good game,” she agreed. “Good night, Claude.”

As Byleth pushed her table back against the wall and prepared for bed, Sothis murmured drowsily, “I wonder why Claude had to pretend to be someone else before.”

But then Sothis yawned with an exhaustion that reverberated in Byleth’s bones, and they crawled to sleep before there was any chance for discussion.


	4. T is for Tower (Part 1)

"What do you think about Felix?" Byleth pondered. "He seems easy enough to get along with, and he's good with the blade."

She was at the tea stall in the marketplace, trying to breathe as little as possible, when Claude had wandered in to talk about nothing at all. How the boy could fill up silence with such little content mystified her, but it certainly could be used in his favor at the poker table - if he could employ it to talk the other players into distraction.

"Easy to get along with?" Claude repeated, rifling through the different imported tea leaves that the merchant had to offer. "His idea of getting along with someone is beating them in a spar."

_ Precisely _ , Byleth thought. Felix was the one student she'd found so far who didn't seem to enjoy tea, and for Byleth, that was enough of a sell.

“That’ll be fifteen thousand gold pieces,” the merchant said when Byleth amassed her small amount of tea leaves and presented it to him.

Now  _ that _ sell was far more pricier than Byleth would like. It was getting harder and harder to haggle with the tea merchants, who all knew by now that she would purchase large quantities of tea from  _ somebody _ despite her bluffs of disinterest. Still, she hummed noncommittally and cast her gaze at a neighboring tea stand, letting it linger as she loosened her grip on the basket of teas from the current merchant.

“But for your loyal business, ma’am, I’ll throw in a chamomile for free,” the merchant said smoothly.

Byleth shook her head. “I apologize for wasting your time, but I only have ten thousand this month to spare on team building. I may need to opt for produce this month instead.” She much preferred to bond with her students over meals, anyways. If only she could spend her free day of the week having a meal with every one of her students instead of partaking in tea - but her appetite wasn’t nearly that large.

The merchant groaned as if in pain. “You know I’d help you out with the prices if I could,” he lied, “but the tariffs lately from importing teas has really narrowed my profits to slim pickings, and I’d promised my daughter a new dress for her birthday this month. Best I can do is twelve thousand, for you.”

Byleth hesitated as if thinking things over. “And the free chamomile?” she asked. “Priority one is paying for weapon repairs for my students, and the church only provides so many funds. There’s been a flurry of bandit activity in the area recently that they’ve been meeting head on, and the uptick has taken a toll on the equipment.”

He scratched his head. “I don’t know if I can do that. The extra chamomile will make it so I only just break even, considering the costs of transport and all…” He trailed off hopefully, but when Byleth didn’t bite, he relented. “But, you didn’t say you were servicing the country by looking after the bandits,” he said finally. “It is my civic duty to thank you for your work. Twelve thousand and the additional chamomile it is.”

Byleth collected her things and tightened the lid of her basket as Claude fell into step beside her. “You’re not thinking of recruiting Felix from the Blue Lions?” Claude asked, watching her closely as he picked the conversation back up. “He’s one of Dimitri’s childhood friends.”

“It’s just classes and some missions that the Church assigns us,” Byleth said, disregarding Claude’s implications of politics around recruitment. “I’m not asking him to bear arms with me in a war against Faerghus.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Claude allowed.

“And a little more intermingling of folks across district lines between the Alliance and the Kingdom would do some good,” Byleth suggested, though it hadn’t occurred to her until that moment. She knew that many of the students here took much stock in where someone was born. Having spent much of her upbringing traveling across Fodlan to wherever the mercenary jobs took her, she felt the sentiment naive. The people were the same, no matter what banners they drew. “I think we can all learn from each other.”

Sothis chided, “Don’t try to excuse your reasoning with an afterthought. You just wanted a student who disliked tea as much as you, so you wouldn’t feel so alone.”

That was… unfortunately true. Byleth had nothing to say to Sothis in response.

Claude, on the other hand, was watching Byleth with a peculiar look on his face that she hadn’t seen him wear before in all their time together - one that spoke of a tentative apprehension, as if he were holding himself back from something. Whether good or bad, Byleth couldn’t tell; but it was a look that felt honest, and it warmed her that he was open with his apprehension, at least.

“Do you really think that?” Claude asked, almost quietly.

“I do,” Byleth said, just as they approached the monastery again to hear the Gatekeeper’s booming “Greetings, Professor!”

“Hello,” Byleth said. “And how are you today?” She always liked the monastery gatekeeper, though she couldn’t identify why. People of his enthusiasm usually annoyed her, but there was something about his flavor of diligence and positivity that she found more than agreeable.

“Nothing to report!” he said cheerfully. “Although, have you heard about the legend of the Goddess Tower?”

Byleth sighed.  _ Had _ she heard of the Goddess Tower, and the rites around it? She’d have to be deaf while wandering the monastery at this time of year to not hear the giggles and the scheming and the wistful sighs of young love, all exaggerated by the legends of the goddess listening to their wishes on a spectacular night and making them come true. If her students could show half as much motivation in their schoolwork, they would be a deadly crew, already.

She kept silent, though, and let the Gatekeeper continue in his explanations. “Is there anyone you’d like to meet in the Goddess Tower?” he asked her suddenly.

Byleth was taken aback. Her, take someone to the Goddess Tower? That was the last thing that had been on her mind. In fact, it wasn’t even that. It wasn’t even a topic that had been on her mind at all, period.

She looked to Claude to share in her incredulity. He dismissed unfounded legends and superstitions as well, she knew, and they’d more than once laughed at some of the strange habits people had adopted in the name of luck and faith. To her surprise, however, he looked rather uncomfortable, his posture slightly stiffer than usual and his gaze askew rather than askance.

It was most peculiar of a reaction. Between his solemnity earlier with her remarks on the Alliance and Kingdom intermingling and his current unease with the topics of the Goddess Tower, Byleth was confounded. What on earth was he - ?

“Professor?” the Gatekeeper inquired, when she remained silent.

Byleth shook herself back to attention. “Yes, um,” she started. “It’s hardly becoming of a professor to make it there, wouldn’t you say?”

"Not at all!" the Gatekeeper said earnestly. "Why should being a professor deprive you of romance for a night?"

Well,  _ deprived _ wasn't quite the word Byleth would've chosen to capture her relationship status. She was perfectly assured in her independence (without comparing herself to another professor at the monastery). The frivolity of romance wasn't something she had much opportunity to indulge in, and beyond some sparse casual attempts at flirting in her life, finding love wasn't on her list of regularly scheduled programs.

"Perhaps I'll take you, then," Byleth said shortly, hoping that bringing him into the conversation at hand would end it.

"Me?" the Gatekeeper stammered. "You wouldn't be joking about that, would you?" He shook his head, metal armor clanking as he did so. "I must watch the gates still, but if I could! You'll tell me who you do intend to meet at the tower eventually, right?"

"You'll be the first to know when there is someone," Byleth said. "Good day, Gatekeeper."

She walked past him back towards her rooms. The sooner she could drop off the teas, the better. Claude followed her, though the endless chatter he'd espoused earlier had all but died; and it seemed that his continued presence was born more out of a mindlessness than an actual intention to walk with her.

Byleth didn't mind. She didn't mind his company, and she enjoyed the quiet.

It was, eventually, Claude who broke the silence: "Do you really intend to recruit Felix to help blur region lines?"

_ No. I want to work with Felix so there's someone else in this damn house who isn't partial to tea _ . "Yes," Byleth said instead, realizing now some of the dangerous implications of training a student to call her out on her lies.

Claude, however, didn’t take notice for once and chuckled under his breath. Whatever burned in his mind had thoroughly consumed him. "You're not like anyone I've ever met, you know that, Teach?" he said thoughtfully, almost saying it to himself though he had addressed her.

She wasn't really sure what to say in response, so she changed the topic. "How's your underground persona coming along?"

He looked to her, clearly reorienting himself. "It's fine. I'm playing with a few options that I'd like to run by you sometime."

"I anticipate it eagerly," she said honestly. "I'll see you soon, Claude."

He wore something indecipherable in his eyes as she left, but Byleth wouldn't let herself linger on it for now. She had a student to try and recruit.

* * *

But then, it turned out that despite his verbal barrage of how anything but training was a waste of time, Felix enjoyed partaking in a cup of tea almost as much as the rest of them. To make matters worse, the stony student shared some similarities his new affable house leader, and Byleth found herself doubling her purchases of Almyran pine needle - clocking in at 1000 gold apiece.

While Byleth felt utterly betrayed by this discovery, she would keep on a stoic face and disguise her regrets like she did at every other tea time.

"I hadn't pegged you as someone with a penchant for tea," Byleth said mildly, sipping the brew through tightly pursed lips.

Felix was a man quick with a sword but slow with words. To this regard, Byleth could relate, but her sympathies were dampened at the current moment - to say the least.

"I'm not," was all he said in the end.

And Byleth realized there was something worse than tea time, and it was tea time with someone who wasn't at all a conversationalist; so, she wasn't even allowed the excuse of not finishing her tea before it turned cold because she was so distracted by the topics of discussion.

"Enough to have a favorite tea," she pointed out.

Felix looked a little disgruntled at that, and Sothis chided her. "If your goal with this tea time is to make everyone as miserable as possible," she said, "you're certainly succeeding."

_ Your contributions are impossibly unhelpful, _ Byleth thought at Sothis.

"There's nothing wrong with that, though," Byleth lied easily, brushing past the topic. "It allows for a venue to discuss things outside of the confines of the training room."

Perhaps because he was now self conscious, Felix was slow to touch his tea. "What's there to discuss?" he asked, arms folded.

They could discuss how she wished he  _ would  _ touch the tea. She'd already paid for the damn thing, after all, and  _ someone _ had better enjoy it.

"Ideas for cross training, for example," Byleth said instead. 

At that, he instantly snapped his attention up to Byleth's face, dour look gone. "Training?"

Sothis scoffed. "Is that the only word this boy knows?" she huffed. Though Felix had proven himself an asset on the battlefield when he accompanied the class on a mission a few months ago, Sothis still had her doubts about the moody swordsman. “He certainly ought to clean his act up, this  _ child _ who walks the earth acting as if his pains are the only ones that are real,” Sothis had said of him disapprovingly.

Byleth, however, was quite adept at ignoring Sothis. " _ Cross _ training. Practicing physical activities outside of your standard repertoire to grow muscle groups you don't normally target," Byleth explained.

"I see," Felix acknowledged, intrigued.

Byleth dared to continue. "You're quick with your blade and even quicker to evade others' blades," she said. "I wonder if you'd be willing to test your agility through less conventional means."

"I can take it on," Felix said with confidence. Byleth wondered how much of that confidence would last when she revealed -

"I want you to represent the house in the dance competition for the White Heron Cup."

Felix didn't react for a while, as if waiting for the punchline to a joke. "You're kidding," he said finally. "I don't joke."

"I'm not joking, either," Byleth said. When he didn't respond, she continued, "From one swordsman to another, I find footwork to be much like a dance in and of itself. I truly think the training required to win the cup will improve your technique."

Felix stared at her a little longer, and Byleth wondered if she’d pushed him too far. Men often had fragile egos about certain forms of athleticism, Byleth had noticed in her time as a mercenary. Since coming to the monastery, she’d found that boys on the brink of manhood had egos that were even more delicate. But she’d counted on Felix’s obsession with becoming the best swordsman he could to override his hesitations, but perhaps -

Felix sighed, long and aggrieved, and ran a hand through his hair. "Sylvain is going to give me so much shit for this."

Did that…. Did that mean he was going to accept her proposition and practice his dancing?

"Hm," Sothis said, pondering the turn of events. "I did not think you would manage to convince him."

Felix continued, "He really wanted to join your class, you know. Kept hoping you'd ask him. He's been absolutely insufferable since I transferred." He shook his head, releasing another long sigh that carried the weight of dread. "He's going to be even more insufferable now."

Byleth hadn't realized that Sylvain had an interest in her class. Would recruiting him as well make Felix's transition easier, or would it cause more stress between the houses?

"He can represent the Blue Lions, if he so then desires, and try to outperform you," she said simply.

That made Felix chuckle - a surprising sound that she hadn't expected from someone so serious, but Byleth found that she liked it. "He can try," he said, the concept of competition restoring a bit of his bite to his personality again. "Tell Sylvain I dare him to. I can outclass him in even this."

"You tell him yourself," Byleth said, but inwardly, she was left bewildered. Was a bit of rivalry with a childhood friend all it took for Felix to change his point of view, or was there something more?

"Hmpf," he said, a smirk pulling one side of his lips. "I will."

It was a surprisingly sweet vignette, Byleth thought, to learn that this lone wolf she’d recruited from the Blue Lions had a pack of his own. Perhaps his rhythm was a little off kilter, but so was the one she walked to. Even if she still didn't understand this new student of hers, she at least understood him a little more than before.

"I'll put a word in with Hanneman," Byleth offered. "He dreads this event every year, so he's told me. I don't think he'd mind if I made a suggestion."

And so they set to scheming on how to manipulate the Blue Lions into sending Sylvain to the dance floor and planning Felix’s new dance training regimine; and between them sat a bullion's worth of tea, left untouched.

* * *

Sometimes Byleth believed there was a higher power - beyond Sothis - who had a wicked sense of humor. Today, it seemed that this anonymous higher power had made a vessel out of Claude.

"Your disguise," Byleth repeated slowly, just to double check she'd heard it correctly, "is a tea merchant."

"I was inspired by your bartering at the marketplace," Claude said , holding his arms out to either side and turning around to show off the whole outfit. "What do you think?"

For once, Byleth found that she had many words to say, unwise though it may be to share them. She struggled with herself for a moment before saying finally, "You don't smell like a tea merchant."  _ Thankfully. _

The worst part was, a traveling tea merchant was a perfect disguise for Claude, with his well-made clothes and worldly understandings and propensity to talk endlessly. It had enough character to add authenticity, but not enough to be memorable. And tea was a higher-end product that Claude likely knew better than, say, porcelains or silks.

"Are you sure about that?" Claude winked. "Wanna get a closer sniff?"

And, like merchants, he was constantly testing the bounds of familiarity with a pseudo friendliness.

Byleth sent him a withering stare and let her silence speak for itself.

"All right, all right," he conceded, arms up. "It's a good point, though. I'll see if I can borrow some floral sprays from Hilda."

How he said  _ borrow _ convinced Byleth that he had no plans to do any sort of borrowing, but she said anyways, "I'd like to be there when you ask Hilda if you can use her perfume before you go out to town for the night."

The way Claude laughed off her comment assured Byleth that whatever had troubled him earlier in the week at the market had been pushed aside and hidden again behind his mask. "Teach, you know me better than that."

Of course she did. The whole ordeal started with Claude sneaking into  _ her _ room for a peek at the ledger, but thinking of how he might've honed his skills for slipping through bedroom doors or how many times he might've done it was something that she - as his professor - had no intention of lingering on. It made her head swim a little, and Byleth knew better than to loiter on subjects that kept her from total mental clarity.

"So what brings your merchant to the poker table?" so she said brusquely, moving the agenda along.

Claude shrugged, swinging down into the chair across from her and lazily throwing an arm around the back. "What can I say? We all have our vices, and gambling is one of mine." He dropped his voice ever so slightly. "And there's no better way to get to know a city than what happens below the streets."

"Careful," Byleth warned. "That opens you up to questions about the underground at other cities. And I'm not sure that a  _ tea _ merchant would learn much about their clientele from under-the-table gambling establishments."

"Fair point, with the clientele," he said thoughtfully before a cocky grin slipped onto his face. "But let them pepper me with questions. I am a  _ master _ of deflection."

"Deflect this, then," Byleth said, and in one fluid motion, she reached over across the room to grab a dull iron dagger that had been sitting there and threw it at him. Claude dove out of the way, but surprise had held him hostage a moment too long and it hit his left arm.

"Ow," Claude groaned, clutching where the dagger landed. "I had a bruise there already from that bandit in the plains."

"Master of deflection, are you?" Byleth said coolly. As Claude scratched the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly, she continued, "The underground will throw enough surprises at you. There's no need to invite any more to satisfy your amusement."

"Noted," he grumbled, albeit (mostly) good naturedly. "Why're you keeping iron daggers in your room, anyways?"

So he noticed that beyond her usual sword and bow, she kept the remaining equipment in the training room. "I won it off a student during the fishing competition that Seteth put on about a month back," she said. "Caspar, maybe?" She couldn't fully remember who had given her what.

Claude's eyes narrowed a bit in speculation. "But you're  _ good _ at fishing." He paused. "Did you just hustle the students at the fishing competition into giving you their stuff?"

Fishing was a talent she'd learned from her father, but she had never been one to fish for leisure or sport. She'd caught a few fish during her time at the monastery for meals, but the pond wasn't her usual haunt - so it surprised Byleth that he'd paid enough attention to this skill of hers; and then it surprised Byleth that she was surprised at all, because of  _ course _ Claude kept tabs on her. He'd said as much when he outed her trips to the underground.

What else did he know, she wondered? Perhaps he knew more about her than she did herself, and that was an oddly chilling thought.

"And a low bar," Sothis chimed in dismissively. "We don't even know how old you are, which is a basic fact about oneself, even if you don't care for the importance of age."

It was a bit much for Sothis, of all people, to berate her for knowing little about some of the factoids of her life. It was a thought that Byleth couldn't keep private from the green-haired being, who briefly allowed that "I suppose you and I are alike in that regard" before yawning and falling asleep, as she always did when she strained too hard on her memories.

"They challenged me," Byleth said in response to Claude as Sothis dozed off. "And it wasn't just students. Catherine wagered, too."

"Huh." He ran a finger along his chin. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"I have no weaknesses." It was Byleth's tried and true response after many years of people trying to dismantle the reputation of the Ashen Demon. Not that she particularly cared for the reputation that nickname afforded her, but sharing one's weaknesses when one made a living out of murder was hardly a tactical move.

"The more I get to know you, the more I'm inclined to believe it." He rolled his shoulder on the side that had been hit by a dagger as his other hand reached across and rubbed at its knots. It made Byleth feel slightly guilty for having thrown the dagger in the first place, because she knew that he hadn’t truly been the brat he had been pretending to be.

“Here,” Byleth said, in an effort to make peace. She stood and walked behind him, gently resting her fingers on his upper back to let him know she was there before working her fingers deeper into his shoulder blades to work the knots. “You’re - very stiff.”

Claude was slow to respond. “Hmm?” he managed finally, but it came out strained as if he’d locked his jaw tight.

Perhaps she’d been pushing too deep into her muscles; she didn’t always realize her own strength. Byleth eased her touch and said, “You should rest more. It’s not good for an archer to keep this much tension in your shoulders.”

“I - yeah,” he said, though the last syllable sounded a bit… deflated? “I… know.”

But then she pushed one knot out slowly, and he let out a deep but quiet groan that flared something in the pit of her stomach that made her think at the same time - that perhaps this was too forward of her, that perhaps it was a little inappropriate for a professor to give a student a shoulder massage in her room - and also that she was glad - relieved? - that Sothis was asleep, though she wasn’t sure why she felt this way; but Sothis would have words to say, maybe, that she didn’t care to hear.

She stepped back. “The evening of the next free day,” she said. “Bring your tea merchant costume.”

She watched the back of his head shake, tousled hair shifting with the movement. “Into the gambling den?”

“Yes. Make sure you’re well rested by then.” She paused before suggesting, “Make a trip to the sauna. Loosen up.”

He still hadn’t turned around to face her, but Byleth didn’t walk around to face him, either. He sighed, one hand running through his hair, before he finally stood. “Anything you say, Teach.”

Claude moved to leave but Byleth caught him by the wrist at the last moment - but she didn’t know why, just that there was some kind of… awkward energy that had somehow arisen, and she felt like she needed to say something else to dispel it.

Green eyes caught hers. “Good work on the ensemble,” she said finally, though it seemed such a paltry comment when given voice.

A slight smile split his lips. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” was all he said; and the door swung shut behind him.


	5. T is for Tower (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That made Byleth smile, because even if she didn’t fully understand, she was still touched by his sincerity. She didn’t need anything else tonight to make it memorable.
> 
> And then as the song came to a close, Sylvain approached with a winning smile of his own. “Mind if I cut in?”

Claude was at once both wide-eyed and assured, which Byleth hadn’t thought was possible until this moment as she weaved a path for them through the crowd. His eyes constantly darted between the details of the underground scene but were hidden behind a bored facade, as if he were looking for something to impress him - and yet, from having stood beside him many times in battle, Byleth felt more than saw just how alert he was in this unfamiliar territory.

She’d never brought anyone with her to this walk of her life before. Not that she’d always gone alone - but this was the first time to introduce someone green to the shadier side of the streets, however well she tried to see him equipped. And if things didn’t run smoothly… Well, her father always said “the fastest way to learn is to first fail.” 

Then again, her father was also known to say that “failing is the first step to dying on the battlefield.”

Byleth touched the hilt of her silver sword for reassurance. She couldn’t bring the legendary sword lest she reveal her identity, and though she’d only wielded it for a short time, the sword had quickly become an extension of her. It had been a fortnight since Byleth had last made it to the tables, and still every time she felt naked without the Sword of the Creator in her scabbard.

“Through here,” she said under her breath, pulling into an unmarked door that was hidden between two shops with colorful signage that attracted the eyes.

“Geez, Teach,” Claude said as the stench of whiskey and smoke and musk hit him. “How’d you find places like these?”

She knew he hadn’t expected a response, so she didn’t give one, as she descended down the dimly lit stairwell. Finding the entrances to a new city’s underground was always a puzzle upon itself, one that she might one day set Claude to solve if they needed spare cash while on the road. Each underground had its own codes, and each underground had its own atmosphere.

In capitals, the undergrounds were sprawling - with shops, bars, and betting rings all interconnected in tunnels and every entrance hidden behind multiple layers of deceit. Garreg Mach’s were far more humble, boasting of only a few speakeasies and black markets, all individually run in their own pockets, like the one she’d since learned that Shamir frequented. Still it was larger than some of the towns Byleth had visited, where their underground consisted of a single room where all below-board transactions were held.

Byleth preferred the undergrounds like Garreg Mach’s. They were small enough to avoid the politics of organized crime guilds but with a crowd large enough to shed her Ashen Demon reputation in.

The familiar aromas of smoke and musk and spilt beer hit her as she opened the door and pushed past the bouncer with a flash of a coin purse. It was a perfume she was introduced to young, a child in a rundown bar carving pictures into dirty wooden tables with a steak knife as Jeralt reviewed different job offers over endless pints of lager. She breathed deeply as Claude came up on her tail, chuckling under his breath for some reason.

"Teach in her natural habitat," he muttered for her ears only. "I feel like I'm starting to understand you better."

Byleth frowned. Claude on a few occasions had commented about how she was an outsider, but was she truly that different and hard to grasp? 

Byleth rather thought that other people were the complicated ones, fishing for answers or compliments or whatever they were looking for in their unnecessary mind games. Perhaps Byleth played her own mind games as well, but they were kept confined to the battlefield and the poker tables. She didn't believe in letting the intrigue required in her professions bleed into her personal life, which was perhaps what separated her from some.

She shook the comment aside and said, "Table in the back has a big blind of fifty gold." A quick scan of the room revealed that the man who called her _ mama _ wasn’t present, to Byleth’s relief. Not that she couldn’t handle him, but for just tonight, she preferred that the unsavory characters were kept to a minimum. “Remember, one beer only, and never let it touch your senses.”

“Got it,” Claude acknowledged. 

Then he brushed past her, deftly maneuvering to beat her to the table she’d pointed out. And when he turned back to her, she saw a smile on his lips and a void in his eyes.

He slid out a chair for her. "For you, my queen of hearts," he said in a silky voice that told Byleth that the charade had begun; and among the skeptical glances from around the table he’d earned with that statement, Byleth sent him an absolute glare.

From the amusement that broke through his mask, Byleth realized that she’d forgotten to tell Claude that they weren’t here to have _ fun _.

Especially not at her expense.

* * *

Despite his dramatic entrance, Claude played fairly conservatively, getting a feel for a table that consisted of more than just the two of them. Byleth couldn’t help but glance at him throughout the night, feeling a distinct pride every time he added to the humble fortune before him.

Beside her, the large man with the reserved demeanor that she’d met before shifted in his seat as Claude reorganized his stacks of coins. At this rate, Byleth thought, he’d be up half a bullion by the end of the night - which, though paltry compared to Byleth’s usual hauls, was commendable for someone’s virgin foray to the gambling scene. It would cover the costs of a ginger tea, anyways, which was one tea more than she’d be able to afford if she’d come down alone.

“Is this your rough patch?” the large man said, nodding at Claude.

_ What -? _Jolted out of her musings, Byleth turned to the man beside her, taking a few moments to recall the brief line she’d spun for him when he asked her what brought her to the underground. “Fell in a bit of a rough patch,” was that what she’d said all those months ago? How must this man see the two of them, as a woman and a man rather than as a professor and a student, her rough patch being something more fanciful than adjusting to a life dealing with teaching the privileged nobility?

"He's a part of it," Byleth allowed, looking towards the Alliance heir once more.

Claude's timely reciprocated glance and the saucy wink that accompanied it told Byleth that he'd been listening in. Good, Byleth thought - he ought to be paying attention to his surroundings at all times.

"Aw hun," he said playfully with an absolutely wicked glint in his eyes, "you've been talking about me while I was gone? Missed me, did you?"

...Less good, Byleth thought, a slow dread burning low in her gut. Could he really not have just let the subject drop, as it had been prepared to do? Of course he couldn't, and while she cursed him for building their personas in this direction, she mostly cursed herself for permitting the opportunity to exist at all.

Sothis laughed delightedly. "Permitting the opportunity to exist?" she echoed in her mind. "You have _ created _ this. You have trained him and brought him to this moment. You were the one who made the rule of avoiding contradiction in improvisation that you must now live by."

_ Yes, thank you for clarifying _, Byleth thought dryly, and her green-haired sentient subconscious hummed in satisfaction.

And now Byleth had to swallow the usual retort on her lips that put an end to such antics, and she found herself at a loss. Her lips attempted to form words several times but her voice failed her, and Claude's grin grew ever so subtly wider and the glint in his eyes took a different sheen - and would it kill Sothis to be a little less amused by the circumstance Byleth found herself in?

"Perhaps you shouldn't have come back," Byleth said finally, and she didn’t even know what those words meant in this context, but she’d intended them as a warning to Claude. It was lost, however, as the long hesitation had made it sound more regretful than anything.

"Yeah," jeered a man across the table who spoke around the cigar he hadn't removed from his mouth. "Seen your like before. Go back from whence you came, Almyran scum."

The air was shocked out of her lungs. Where did this come from? "And perhaps you should take your own advice and return to the hellhole that sprouted you," Byleth said sharply. "That is not what I meant." 

Claude, however, seemed utterly unphased by the racist attack and the reveal of a heritage Byleth had long supposed but never addressed. "Not looking for trouble, I'm only here for a little while," he said diplomatically, waving a hand lazily in the air to quell the argument that was beginning to brew. "I'm a simple man, proselytizing the quality of Fódlan teas with those who haven’t had the fortune to taste it. The coin I earn from it is fair, and if you want to take it from me - ” The grin he pasted on was full of teeth. “You’ll have to try harder to goad me into playing beyond my hand.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted, and Claude seemed to take up all of it, stretched out on his chair with one hand resting casually on the back of Byleth’s. And something in Byleth’s vision shifted alongside it, for she saw for the first time not a student dressed outside of his uniform, but a young man in noble finery bred in the arts of politics and influence; someone who could master a roundtable like Byleth did the poker table. Someone powerful in his own right that didn’t need to be protected as Byleth did her Golden Deer.

The following silence stretched and yawned, the type that lingered on lazily like a thick blanket stifling all else in the room, waiting for someone to cut it. It was one of Byleth’s favorite silences, when she was the one to wield it. But this time it was _ Claude _who wielded it, her deer turned apex predator, and all she could do was watch and wonder, when the fuck did this happen?

When the man who’d spoken realized that no one was coming to defend his point of view, he sniffed and collected his coins. “This country gets worse by the year,” he spat. “It’s finally gone to the dogs.”

“It may be just your perspective that’s worsening,” Byleth suggested. “You could try turning it around.”

And as the man left, Byleth wanted to turn to Claude, wanted to ask him how he was doing, a line of worry etched into her chest over the missing cracks from his mask. But it wasn’t the time or the place for it, and it would be especially imprudent of her to assume that he needed his emotions mothered, especially while his visage was still so calm and collected. Yet she still felt an urge to offer a tether of support somehow, so she sent him a fleeting smile the moment she caught his eye.

He didn’t acknowledge it, instead saying to the table at large, “Well, I came here to _ play _. Shall we, gentlemen? Ladies?”

But as the attention of the group was drawn to the new hand being dealt, the arm snaked along the back of her chair moved and touched her shoulder gently.

Byleth pushed fifty gold pieces to the middle of the table, and others did the same. The game continued, and she knew, so would Claude.

* * *

“I am so _ done _ with all this young love in the air,” Manuela complained, gesturing to all the students crowded around the courtyard, whispering and giggling. “Can’t they put a pause on it for five minutes so these students can practice for the White Heron Cup?”

Back at the monastery, it was easy for Byleth to fall back into step with her day to day as a professor, coaching and training and drinking _ tea _ . And it was easy to commiserate with Manuela (for once), with all the tittering and the gossiping driving both them and Hanneman to their wits' end. "Tell me, Professor," Hanneman had said to her recently, "what about the legend of a tower is so much more interesting than the magical reality of _ crests _?"

But as she watched Sylvain (the Blue Lions contender) try to flirt with Dorothea (the Black Eagles contender) as Dorothea tried to talk to Felix (the Golden Deer contender) as Felix was just trying to train ("Why am I even here?" he kept muttering under his breath as he rehearsed his waltz), she couldn't help but reflect on how Claude commanded the room when xenophobia threatened to kick him out of it - and how, even knowing Claude's strength in wordsmithing, she was totally blindsided.

These children of privilege that she'd dismissed, these “noble brats” in her custody... How many of them were more mature than she gave them credit for? How many of them had accrued their own experience in battle and suffering, if through different avenues than she? Perhaps Claude hadn't seen battle the same way she did, but she never encountered racism like he must have. To maintain perfect composure even as the target of such hateful words… what events in his life trained him to be this way? Others at the monastery, were they all survivors in their own right, no matter how frivolous they sometimes seemed to be?

How many of her students did she wrong by not putting the faith of actual responsibility in their hands?

"Elbows up, Dorothea. And soften your fingers," Manuela instructed, but her tone had taken a gentler quality. The former songstress was partial to the younger opera singer, Byleth had noticed, and Byleth sometimes thought that she liked Manuela best when Dorothea was around, too. "Good."

"Same goes to you, Sylvain. Remember, you're not gripping a lance," Hanneman said, remarking upon the redhead's clenched hands.

“It’s all so much harder without a proper partner to dance with,” Sylvain said, casually dismissing the criticisms. “Dorothea, what say you about pairing up and showing Felix how this thing goes? And then maybe we can strategize over dinner - ”

“Could you quit it?” Felix interrupted before Dorothea could even say anything. “She’s already said, she’s not interested.”

Dorothea, for her part, looked utterly conflicted on whether to thank Felix for re-emphasizing her disinterest or to begrudge him for rejecting all her overtures of conversation. “Maybe I’ll reconsider if you can win against me in the competition,” she said in the end. “I am a professional performer, you know.”

And then there were moments like these that reminded Byleth why she didn’t like her job, because heavens knew that the Church of Seiros wasn’t paying any of the professors overtime for this. From the way that Hanneman’s forehead was pinching together, she imagined he was thinking much the same thoughts.

“That’s enough,” Byleth said quickly, because it looked like Sylvain was about to say something that would make her headache worse. “Sylvain, if you truly require a partner to practice your steps, you can kindly ask the professor of your class.”

Perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say, given the two looks of outrage that she immediately received. “I’m not sure that would be well advised,” Hanneman was starting to say, as Sylvain was vocally complaining about having the only male professor in the monastery assigned to the Blue Lions.

Manuela giggled into her hand. “That’s a splendid idea, Professor,” she said. “As the one responsible for the Black Eagles, I can be Dorothea’s partner if it suits her.”

“I’d love your help, Manuela,” Dorothea said, extending her arm and giggling as well. "May I have this dance, Professor?"

Sylvain looked quickly between Manuela and Dorothea as they intertwined before his eyes landed on Byleth. “Professor, I’ve known Felix since we were young. He’s a bit of a lone wolf, so in his absence, if you’d like to dance - ”

Byleth ignored him and stepped towards Felix. “Gentler with the knees,” she advised. “Don’t lock them. Be dynamic. Let them breathe to the rhythm.”

“What rhythm?” Felix groused, whatever little emotional capacity he had for the day already fully depleted.

Byleth sighed. If he really couldn’t find the rhythm… “Take your sword out.”

“What?”

Byleth removed her sword from her sheath, and Felix did too, his posture instantly improved. She swung her sword in a high arc, which he deflected, blades scraping against one another as they each pulled back their sword.

“_ Hear _ the rhythm the steel makes when they clash,” she instructed as she parried an attack. He spun away when she returned it, and she continued, “ _ Feel _ how you move with it. There’s a beat to it, and it’s the same beat you’re looking for in the music.”

Dorothea’s laugh was loud and clear, rising above the blows of the spar. “Looks like Felix knows how to work with a partner after all,” Dorothea said over her shoulder at Sylvain as Manuela spun her around.

There was a moment of silence before Sylvain heaved a sigh, staring intently at the scene before him. “Fine,” he said finally, his tone a mixture of reluctance and exasperation. “Professor Hanneman, shall we?”

* * *

Felix won the White Heron Cup in the end, and Byleth thought that the sliver of pride she saw on his face when he did wasn’t just a projection of her own emotions. And then, he even came up to Byleth during the night of the ball to ask her for a proper dance, one without swords.

“I know I doubted you about the dancing,” he said as they swept across the floor, and the grace at which he led her informed Byleth that Felix had definitely been practicing his waltz steps on his own time, “but you were right. As usual.”

“About what?” Byleth pressed.

“It… helps me with my sword technique,” he said. “Evading the opponent’s attacks comes easier now, so…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Thank you.”

That made Byleth smile, because even if she didn’t fully understand her newest student, and even if she didn’t know whether he also harbored some secret tragic life, she was still touched by his sincerity. She didn’t need anything else tonight to make it memorable.

And then as the song came to a close, Sylvain approached with a winning smile of his own. “Mind if I cut in?” he said. Byleth moved to part ways with the swordsman and just as she was about to verbally accept, Sylvain said, “Great.” And he grabbed a startled Felix and started to move to the introductory notes of the next song. “You may have won the cup, but I’m about to prove to you that _ I’m _ the better dancer.”

“You - ” The flush on Felix’s face was unmistakable now. He shook his head, flustered. “_ I _ won, I should be the one leading,” he said finally, fighting over the dominant hand positions.

"You can lead once you've grown a few centimeters taller," Sylvain shot back, not relenting. "Until then - "

"That's hardly - " Felix broke off, indignant. "What does height have to do with anything?"

"Fine. Then maybe I thought you'd enjoy being a follow," Sylvain suggested, sweeping the two of them away with some difficulty, given Felix's resistance. "After all, you were so good at following me around as kids whenever Dimitri would - "

"Shut _ up _," was the last thing Byleth could hear of their bickering as they stumbled between the other couples on the floor, neither Sylvain nor Felix able to find the proper footing in their battle for being the lead - and more than once, Byleth thought that perhaps a misstep was made on purpose, if the wince on Sylvain's face was anything to go by.

Despite it all, not once did it occur to either of them to give up the dance that no one was making them see through.

"You seem entertained," Ingrid commented as she came up to Byleth, shaking her head at the ruckus. "Those two are exhausting, but… I find they are endearing to me as well."

And Byleth was surprised to find that she agreed with the aspiring knight, that somewhere along the line of forcing herself to drink tea to build an army out of students, she'd inducted herself into a sort of community as well. They were - as Ingrid said - exhausting and difficult, but working with them brought Byleth a little joy as well. They were no longer just names on a roster. Even the ones not in her class, like the girl beside her, were special to her.

So she shared another of her rare smiles with Ingrid and she said, "Well, we shouldn't let the boys have all the fun." Byleth extended a hand which Ingrid accepted with a laugh; and Byleth decided that perhaps the ball wasn't so frivolous after all.

It was more enjoyable than tea, at any rate.

* * *

Even as Sothis berated her, Byleth slipped outside. She'd never thought her physical stamina lacking, but there was definitely something about warm ballrooms and endless dancing and the music and the chatter and _ everything _ that overloaded her senses, and she just - needed a break.

No matter how much fun she might have at a party, she'd never be one of those people that lingered until the sunrise crept over the horizon. But a bit of silence, a bit of cold night air…

In juxtaposition, this felt like freedom.

Byleth looked behind her where the merriment was still ongoing, the music still audible and the sporadic laughter floating above it all. When she was younger, she used to climb up hilltops on these festival days and look down at the buildings below, each one lit up as if the stars in the sky had descended to the earth for just one evening. She'd never longed to be a part of it, content to watch and wonder.

The view of Garreg Mach from an eagle eye perspective would be stunning tonight, Byleth thought, a little wistful from the memories. With the monastery at the center and its cluster of lights and the spokes of the town stretching outward into the countryside, it would look as if the place was a single star descended from the heavens. If only she had a wyvern of her own so that she might witness it.

"Mayhaps the Goddess Tower awaits you," Sothis offered.

_ You've had better ideas. _ Byleth had no intention of catching anyone in any act of intimacy. And she was more than certain that if any of her students were up there, they'd prefer to avoid an unannounced visit from their professor. Really, it would be a lose-lose situation.

"It's the highest point in the monastery. You wanted to see the lights, did you not?" Sothis returned crossly.

She _ did _ long to see the lights.

"And there might not be anyone even there," Sothis said.

It would be a pity if she missed her opportunity to see the city lights from its center out of a fear that she might discover a pair of lovers praying together.

How long had it been since she'd indulged in something purely for herself, and not for any reason but pleasure? Her life had always prioritized the job first, even if the job was something she was unqualified for and was underpaid for, like the professorship. It was a simple wish, really, to see the chandeliers and the candles alight from above, and it seemed silly to deprive herself of something so small of a want.

"You're right, Sothis," Byleth said. "The Goddess Tower awaits."

Sothis hummed in pleasure at the admission. "Good," she said. "And after, we shall dance again. The night is ever young."

"Maybe," Byleth said. For now, she had stars she wished to see.

* * *

But the Goddess Tower was _ not _ empty.

Neither was it full, however. Yet, of all the scenarios she might have encountered here this evening, Byleth did not expect to find Claude - the life of many a party, who scoffed at relying on legends for luck - here, alone. Staring out the window at the very view she came here to see, surrounded by silence.

Who was this young man, Byleth thought suddenly, whose smiles came from his lips and not his soul? Who loudly advertised his deceit to caution friends away and yet deflected hateful remarks without batting an eye? Who had fleeting moments of sincerity behind closed doors, as if honesty were a weakness to be ashamed of?

It was such a jarring depiction of him when laid against his playful disposition and his propensity to tease at anything and everyone that didn't want to be teased.

Like she found the city lights in her younger years, Byleth thought she could watch his silhouette against the night sky forever, trying to puzzle out the different shades haunting his profile. But he turned, and that damned smile slid onto his face, and whatever musing that had compelled him to this moment was lost.

"Oh, hey Teach. What brings you to the Goddess Tower?" He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “You know what? Nevermind. The answer is as clear as day. You couldn’t bear the ball anymore and simply had to escape.”

Sothis laughed. “He does know you quite well by now, doesn’t he?” she said, which Byleth thought was a little unfair. He made it sound as if she found the ball absolutely torturous, but she _ did _ enjoy it, despite herself. It was just… well, it got to be a bit _ much _ after a while for someone who liked quiet as much as she.

Perhaps he read the discontent on her face, because he continued, “There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re not comfortable with a noisy crowd. Really, I get it. I’m the same way.”

Now _ that _ was not how Byleth would’ve chosen to describe the house leader of the Golden Deer, who was constantly worming his way into conversations he wasn’t invited to and piping in with choice commentary that would inevitably start a commotion, all for his own amusement. Just last week, she thought she saw that Claude had somehow even managed to cause a row between Ingrid and Raphael over the subject of _ vegetables _.

But lately she was left feeling like he was both friend and stranger, and that all those evenings of telling each other stories about themselves had gotten her no closer to understanding the motives behind his forced smiles. So she ventured, “Truth,” because against all that she’d seen from him in the daytime, he was still here in the Goddess Tower on the evening of the ball.

The corners of his lips quirked up as he looked back out towards the window. “You see right through me,” he said. “Those dances the nobles do are… something else. I was never taught to do that sort of thing. My upbringing was…”

He trailed off, and Byleth approached to stand beside him. The lights glittered and flickered below, reaching out into the darkness to meet its reflection in the sky - and here she stood, in the midst of it all, surrounded by a halo no matter which way she turned her gaze.

It didn’t give her the same feeling of wonder she’d experienced as a child, and the nostalgia tasted almost bitter with it missing. The wind whistled a slow and lonely tune through the cracks of the tower as she watched, and yet it still felt oddly peaceful.

“When I was young, I imagined on nights like these, the stars were visiting the earth from the heavens above,” she said. “I used to wonder if they liked what they saw.” Maybe, out in the darkness where the lights didn’t extend, there was a little girl on a hill looking in with all the wonder that Byleth had since lost as Byleth looked out towards her.

“I used to stare up at the stars,” Claude admitted. “The way they stretch to infinity made everything on earth seem so much simpler.”

She turned away from the imaginary little girl to face Claude. His chin was upturned, searching for something through the clouds.

Byleth chuckled. “You came here for a better view of the sky, and I came for a better view of the ground.”

He smiled, too, one that softened his gaze. “We complement each other well, don’t you think?” he said quietly, almost to himself. Then he tore his eyes from the heavens and fixed them on Byleth with an intensity that would have startled her heartbeat, if she had one. “You know, without realizing it, I found myself holding tightly to some pretty big ambitions. If you would...” He swallowed, the apple of his throat flexing. “I would love for you to share in those ambitions with me, Teach.”

She’d known - for so long, now, it seemed - that he had hopes and dreams he feared to divulge. She remembered thinking that she’d need to keep an eye on him, lest he trip over himself while dancing his way through to reach them. And still she didn’t know what those hopes and dreams were, and how dangerous they were - or even if she agreed with them.

But then she remembered again his mask in the underground, and how he was more capable than she’d given him credit for. And that she was wrong to think she’d need to keep an eye on him as he followed his ambitions, and maybe she could just - _ support _ him, instead.

So she touched her fingers to his, and they were cold from being well acquainted with the night air. Claude’s breath hitched slightly, and Byleth smiled.

It reflected on his face for a moment, and it almost looked like Claude was about to say something else before he pulled back, wrapping his hands around hers briefly before letting go. “It’s cold,” he noted. “I suppose we should head back soon. I’m sure everyone is looking for you.”

And if Byleth was disappointed in that he didn’t say anything more, she didn’t know why. Did she hope that in trusting him more, that he’d… what?

“Just - promise to spare a dance for me. OK, Teach?” He winked, the boyish charm she was used to fully in place once more.

With his admittedly aesthetically pleasing face, his Crest, and his noble lineage, he could hardly be considered a diamond in the rough. But Byleth was reminded of it anyways as he sauntered down the stairs, wondering at the many facets of Claude von Riegan.


	6. T is for Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have something I need to tell you when I get back,” her father had said to her before he left for his mission as a Knight. She’d deadpanned back at him, “That’s what people say in plays and operas before they go off to die.” Her father had laughed at that - “And how would you know?” he’d said as he tightened his sheath around his waist, ready to depart anyways. “I’ve never taken you to see either of those.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to StealthFlower who did the dirty work that I didn't want to do and proofread this chapter before publish. Much appreciated!! Thanks for keeping me on track.

"Back again, Earl?" the man Claude called Fidget said as they seated themselves at the table. He was a strong player and Byleth had yet to decide if his twitches were a medical condition or a disguise. "Careful, or you might become a regular here."

It had been less than a month and Claude had already eased his way into the social scene in the underground that Byleth had always held at sword's length. He’d even earned the nickname Earl Grey that was often shortened to Earl for his supposed tea selling profession.

"Yeah," laughed the woman who Claude called Spades because of her jet black hair. "It wouldn't do if word got around that a member of the esteemed nobility haunted these dirty parts."

Claude thought it was hilarious that the crew jokingly treated him like nobility because of the moniker, ignorant to the fact that Claude was actually a few ranks above an earl. Byleth hated it, because they roped her into it, too. Some clever asshole started calling her "Countess Grey" out of the supposed romantic relationship that they had and it had caught on in spite of the quelling glare she'd sent his way.

She'd never complained, but Claude knew her well enough at this point to both recognize her distaste for the nickname and to feel comfortable in taunting her about it. "Would you prefer being Duchess von Riegan instead, then?" he'd said teasingly, to which Byleth had immediately sentenced him to cleaning the stables to remind him  _ who _ between the two of them had authority.

For now, at least. She wasn't sure how much she'd see Claude once he graduated in a few short months, and what dynamic they might have once he assumed his place at the Alliance roundtable. Regardless, Byleth figured that these months were her last chances to condemn the noble to sweeping horse shit and she'd bend it to her advantage.

It didn't help that the amnesiac living in Byleth’s headspace loved the new nickname. "From Ashen Demon to Countess Grey," Sothis had trilled. "So many titles without color that you have earned. I suppose you aren't named for your  _ vibrant  _ disposition."

Claude grinned and winked at Spades as he dumped his satchel of coins onto the table. "I'm worried you all might forget me once my trade takes me back on the road."

"Hardly. You're just here to suck us dry before you move on to the next town," Spades said, rolling her eyes as she tapped her cigar on the table where a small pile of ash was already collecting. "After all, you're not an easy one to forget."

"Despite all best efforts," Byleth said, mostly to herself. She knew she said that she’d support him when they had that conversation in the Goddess Tower, but wasn’t forcing her to make small talk while playing poker so she could make the money to buy the tea she didn’t even want to drink unnecessarily cruel? Not that he was aware of the latter fact, of course.

Fidget chortled as he passed the dealer button over to the man beside him. "Harsh love, Countess. Don't think we forgot how vehemently you defended him those weeks ago."

Byleth sent a cool look in Claude's direction. He might have ruined poker for her forever, she thought. How would she be able to come back to the underground here once Claude graduated? Would the likes of Spades and Fidget forever torment her with questions about what that charming tea merchant was up to? Maybe she should send him to the stables again this week for putting her in such a position.

Her father, at least, would be glad if she put this life of gambling behind her.

"How can I be the one bleeding you dry when there's this lovely lady's here?" Claude said, shaking his head and gesturing to Byleth as he put in his blind. “Her words are hardly the sharpest thing about her.”

“Yes,” Spades said, raising a single manicured eyebrow. “She is the blade and you are the whetstone, it seems.” She placed a finger on her cards and nudged them in a few inches. “I’m folding this round.”

But over the course of the past few weeks, Byleth found that she liked Spades. She noticed the woman long ago when Byleth first began frequenting the establishment as someone with expert self control who played cards as a hobby. Spades always came in with the same humble amount of gold and left when it was spent, even if she didn’t come out ahead. In fact, she rarely did come out ahead - but her lackluster abilities in the sport never seemed to bother her.

She wouldn't have realized that she appreciated the woman's snark as well if Claude hadn't started making small talk with the others. Not that it was necessarily a good thing - Byleth preferred to milk coins out of people she  _ didn't _ know.

“A  _ whetstone _ ?” Claude echoed in disbelief. “Is that what I am to you?”

Fidget tilted his head in thought just as his wrist jerked a centimeter. “You do bring out a certain edge in her,” he supposed.

“Well, whetstone  _ this _ ,” Claude said in exaggerated affront as he raised the previous call.

Byleth studied the heir. He was a good actor when his façade was fully up (not to mention the coaching she’d given him during those sessions when she’d been teaching him the game), and down here, it didn't matter if his smiles didn't reach his eyes. No one's did. A healthy perspective of joy hardly made a man a regular underground patron.

Her hand was good. Was Claude's better? There were six people at the table with four hands still in play, one card yet to be revealed. It was possible, but…

Sothis complained, "I do wish you'd stop running so many numbers like this. It makes me dizzy."

Byleth called. It didn't matter in the end, since their earnings went to the same pot. She just needed to avoid scaring the others at the table into folding.

"A little too timely of a raise, don't you think?" Byleth said delicately. "It sounds like ego is speaking."

"Earl's ego is always the one speaking," Fidget said, a feral grin at his lips as he also called. "After all, he is an _ earl. _ The question is, can he live up to his ego?"

The answer turned out to be no - that Claude had been bluffing wildly with his two and four off suit. But luckily Byleth's three pair was enough to beat Fidget's two pair Ace high, and as she collected her earnings, Byleth nodded at Claude and said, "Thank you, Whetstone."

"That's Earl Whetstone to you, Countess," Claude said cheekily.

" _ This _ is what I'm talking about," said Spades, taking another drag from her cigar. "The Earl lures in the bets for the Countess to reap."

Claude scoffed. "So now I'm  _ bait _ ?" He shook his head. "Deal me in another round. I have someone I need to prove wrong."

* * *

"You didn't actually set up that bluff for me, did you?" Byleth asked Claude after as they hovered by the door to her room. "How did you know my hand was strong?"

They often lingered in the late evening for a brief discussion of their observations throughout the game. Byleth found that she enjoyed these short private moments and having someone who actually  _ understood _ her to explore casual tactics with. Claude had a keen eye himself, and through these talks she caught herself noticing things she normally would have otherwise looked over.

Claude grinned, one corner of his lips pulling up higher than the other as he scratched his head. She liked this smile, Byleth thought. "I didn't. I know you, though."

Byleth folded her arms and leaned against the door frame. She'd given Claude advice on his play style before, and they've talked about plenty of the underground patrons - including the perverted man who called her  _ mama _ ("I refer to people like him as  _ target _ ," she'd said) - but they'd not yet broached upon Byleth's play.

"Oh?" she said. "And how do you figure?"

"Eh, well," Claude started, mulling it over. "You never actively play against me. But if your hand is strong, you'll always trust it more than the chance that mine might be better. Which makes sense, of course, since you're a better player than me and all."

That was true, Byleth thought, tilting her head to the side. She was far more apt to trust the probabilities of a hand she could see than the probabilities of a hand she couldn't, but she also figured that doing so was just common sense in games of luck and chance.

"Tonight, I had an earlier position than you," he continued.

Which meant that Byleth had the advantage over him, seated at a later position. He had to be planning his strategy a turn in advance if he'd been relying on her reaction.

"And you called, which told me that your hand was good," Claude said with a shrug of his shoulders. "And then you goaded the others into calling as well, which told me that you were confident that your hand was good."

That… was where he lost her. Byleth shook her head, confused. "Why couldn't it have meant that I trusted  _ your _ hand was good?"

He laughed, easy and carefree. "Hey now, Teach. You know better than that, after all the times I told you not to trust me when we first met," Claude said, leaning back with his hands behind his head casually against the other side of the door frame.

Byleth curled her lips. "Would you preferred that I listened to you from the get go?"

"No, no, of course not," Claude sighed. "I'm glad you stuck around, you know that." He shook his head. "But like I said, you'd only trust my hand if your hand was weak. And then you'd most likely fold rather than goad others into over betting into my hand."

"And if I raised?" Byleth pressed.

"Bluffing, probably," Claude guessed, shrugging. "You've only once raised after I raised, and that was mostly for show."

"You - " Byleth started before agitation clenched her throat. This - what was it that she was feeling? Her mind felt like it was swimming and going nowhere all at once.

"Oh dear," Sothis said softly. "I do believe you're in shock."

The thing was - he was  _ right. _ Since the money they won was for the Golden Deer funds, Byleth didn’t see a point in trying to call Claude’s bluffs. If her hand had been poor, she would’ve folded and let him try to win the hand without her aid, lest their losses be greater than necessary. And everything he was saying sounded so familiar that hearing them aloud made her feel she felt as though she were transparent, and - and he was so  _ flippant _ about it all, like it wasn’t a big deal. And that offended Byleth for some reason that she couldn’t understand, almost as much as she was impressed by him.

“You’ve found my tell,” Byleth said at last, and she hated that her voice sounded small. She hadn’t even realized that she  _ had  _ a tell.

Claude looked alarmed at that. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he said.

He was trying to be kind, Byleth was sure, and that he held back from the blunt reality frustrated her. “You know how to read me,” she said, “and use it to your advantage.”

“To  _ our _ advantage,” Claude said, his brows knitting together. “I still don’t think I could beat you if we played against each other, unless luck really bent my way. But when we’re a team… We’ve fought alongside each other enough that I’m familiar with how you work.”

Byleth let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, though it didn’t abate the tension she felt in her shoulders.

What was she doing? She was his professor; she should be encouraging him to surpass her abilities and congratulate him on his successes thus far. She shouldn’t be -  _ stressed _ , Byleth thought, was the best word for it.

So she pushed down her inner turmoil and said, “You’re right. Our advantage.” She steeled herself. “I’m sorry. You did very well tonight, Claude. I’m proud.”

He watched her intently, the furrow in his brow never leaving. But of course, Byleth thought in despair - he knew the tell she herself didn't know she had, of course he’d know now that she wasn’t being completely honest with him. But Byleth didn’t even know what she had to share, because none of how she felt made any sense at all. Why didn't she feel more pride in her student? Why did she feel like her own ego had been injured? (Why was her own ego involved at all?)

Maybe she just needed to be alone for a little while to parse some things through.

She grasped his arm, the way they sometimes did after a hard won victory on the battlefield. “Good night,” she said firmly.

Something slid over his features. “Night, Teach,” he said finally, and his face was impassive by the time he turned away. But then, Byleth was sure that she was wearing her poker face as well.

* * *

The walls of her bedroom were profoundly silent. Perhaps almost stiflingly so. Sothis was awake but quiet, waiting for Byleth to break the tension, for once proving that she knew how to refrain from offering unsolicited commentary.

Byleth let out another long, aggrieved sigh. Hadn't she only recently realized how capable her students could be and been impressed by their capabilities? Hadn't she only recently decided to support them, and here she was… feeling decidedly  _ un _ supportive.

It was one thing to decide to do something and another to feel the same way, Byleth thought. But she had always been good at decoupling emotions from her actions. She had to, to survive as a merc. And now… what? She enjoyed her time with Claude (well, usually) in part because they spoke similar languages of tactics and strategies, but now it turned out that Claude understood her better than she realized - maybe better than she understood herself - and that upset her because…

"For so long you have not been understood by others, that being unreadable has become part of your identity," Sothis said, and her voice sounded far and distant. "To be predictable now has shaken the foundations of your self perception."

So many facts about her life she didn’t know, and she had come to terms with it - like her unknown age, her unidentified mother, her missing heartbeat. “I have something I need to tell you when I get back,” her father had said to her before he left for his mission as a Knight. She’d deadpanned back at him, “That’s what people say in plays and operas before they go off to die.” Her father had laughed at that - “And how would you know?” he’d said as he tightened his sheath around his waist, ready to depart anyways. “I’ve never taken you to see either of those.”

The idea of learning of the things her father had kept secret for so long both piqued her curiosity - and a light fear. Though mysterious in his own ways, her father wasn’t an unreasonable man, and that he’d felt it necessary to obscure her identity spoke volumes. Sothis was right: she had learned to shoulder her own air of mystery (both to others, and to herself) as a part of  _ her _ , and peeling back one of those layers… well, she didn’t know what she’d find and if she’d like it, and that uncertainty made her wonder if she even wanted to know what her father had to say.

And more that that, Byleth realized. She had learned to view this air of mystery as a source of pride. Though she didn't care for the infamy that titles brought her, she was the Ashen Demon with a stoic mask and a quick blade. She was the favored professor in just her first year of teaching without any prior experience. She was so many great things that no one expected of her, because no one understood her enough to create those expectations. And that suited her just fine - for though she found herself in situations that she didn’t expect to be in (like, well,  _ teaching _ ), it was her will that brought her to excellence, and no one else’s.

She was a woman with a resumé to defend her ego and was caught off guard when Claude proved able to expose things about her that she didn’t even know.

To learn that others might pick her apart like she picked apart others made her feel oddly vulnerable.

“Claude has always been the one I thought didn’t know how to trust,” Byleth muttered, and the admission felt heavy in her heart. “But maybe it’s me.”

“You have been alone for so long, it is no surprise that you should come to be comforted by it,” Sothis said. “But you need not be alone.”

As a mercenary, she trusted her team enough to see the mission through, but she didn’t love them enough to mourn their deaths. They felt the same towards her, she was sure, but what she’d built over tea times and meals with her students felt decidedly different from what she’d had in her father’s mercenary crew, despite it being what she’d been trying to emulate. And… she liked what she had now better.

She’d said to herself that she would start to support her students in their goals in life, but she still viewed herself as center stage. That was the discrepancy.

“I’ll do better,” Byleth vowed.

"Good," Sothis said, pleased, before she yawned loudly. "I tire of your sulking. It is not a becoming feature of yours." And she fell asleep before Byleth had any chance of response.

* * *

Try as she might, it seemed like it was impossible to catch Claude in private. He was the first to slip out after class, and Byleth was almost certain that he’d set Hilda up to distract her with questions after lectures so she wouldn’t even have the chance to ask him to linger afterwards.

He used to seek her out on free days. Now their interactions were kept to class hours only, and the face she saw in the seats was the face of the Claude she’d first met, and not the one she’d gotten to know.

She must have really offended him, Byleth thought, when she pulled away from him after their last poker outing. That in turn hurt Byleth a little, and yet he was too elusive for her to apologize.

“Is that him?” Sothis said, and Byleth turned to catch sight of a pair of green eyes before they darted away and slipped into the corridor. “Was he watching you?”

Byleth moved to follow, but then -

“Hey, Professor. Have you seen your old man?”

Alois came up and Byleth cursed his name. First he recommended her as a professor, and now this? For someone who said he wanted to help her in any ways possible, he had a talent for doing the exact opposite.

“No, I haven’t,” she said.

Alois sighed, aggrieved. “Too bad. I guess it’ll have to be you, then…”

“I’m back,” a new voice interrupted. Byleth turned to see her father striding in, and she could still hear the Gatekeeper shouting “Have a good day, Captain!” from the entrance. “Sorry for the delay, the last mission took longer than expected.”

“Jeralt is back,” Sothis said, and Byleth could practically see her sitting up straighter in her throne with interest. “Does that mean you’ll finally - ”

“Captain!” Alois erupted, and whatever composure he’d been trying to maintain collapsed with relief at the sight of Jeralt. “Thank goodness you’re here. There are reports of Demonic Beasts near the chapel!”

Byleth’s eyes strayed to where she’d last sighted Claude. Maybe - but he’d be long gone by now, she told herself. She shook her head and focused back on the conversation at hand.

“Demonic Beasts?” Byleth inquired.

“It’s odd,” Alois agreed. “Just before they appeared, someone saw a number of students headed towards the chapel…”

* * *

She rallied her students to help take control of the chapel. Claude slipped into line at the very end, and whenever Byleth tried to make eye contact, he seemed to be adjusting his bow string.

She couldn’t let herself get distracted. She could always confront Claude after the battle.

“What are Demonic Beasts doing  _ here _ ?” gasped Hilda, wringing her axe in her hands.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Leonie said, readying her arrow. “We can figure it out after we’ve mitigated the risk. Right, Captain?”

Byleth saw the brief flicker of shock that crossed Jeralt’s face at seeing the Demonic Beasts that littered the sanctuary before it was masked again. “Protect the students who weren’t able to get away,” he said before charging towards one of the beasts.

Byleth didn’t bother to nod because she knew he wouldn’t see. “Archers and mages fire first to break their shields, as far away as you can still get a clear shot. Claude, take Hilda and Raphael and go down the middle. Felix and Lorenz, you’re with me,” she commanded.

It was just another battle.

* * *

Except, it wasn’t.

And her father, the man who never seemed to age in the same way that Byleth never seemed to have one, the man who had repelled death so many times, who she’d fucking  _ joked _ about dying earlier in the month because it was so ludricous that something like that should ever  _ happen _ \- 

“It’s fate,” Sothis said, and  _ no _ , it wasn’t fate that the red-headed girl that they’d damn saved alongside Flayn should fatally stab her father in the back, in all literal and metaphorical senses - 

\- and she kept reaching, reaching for Sothis’ power to rewind time, just a little further, to before the battle, but the green-haired narcoleptic kept it out of reach, or it was gone, depleted, or it was  _ something _ \- 

\-  _ anything  _ -

She abandoned her sword and ran over to her father, trying to conjure the little bit of white magic she’d learned from Manuela.  _ Please _ , she whispered, but she didn’t know if it was out loud or silent, and her vision - she couldn’t  _ see _ \- why couldn’t she at least  _ see _ her father in these moments, like everything was distorted like through a window pane in rain - 

His eyes opened, and he  _ smiled _ , and it made her want to smile too, if her face didn’t feel so heavy - because of course, if there would be someone who laughed at death, it  _ would _ be Jeralt - and then they closed again, almost like he was sleeping -

_ \- no, wake up -  _

“To think that the first time I saw you cry,” he said, “your tears would be for me.”

Was this what it was? Was this why she couldn’t see? Tears… 

She’d shed a thousand tears if it meant he would open his eyes again and smile, for them to laugh at death together.

The sky opened and shed thousands of tears for her.

But Jeralt’s eyes did not open again.

* * *

There was neither excitement nor fear when she held her father’s diary in her hands. All the secrets she both wanted to know and dreaded learning… they were just words on a page that swam, words that she needed to reread until she understood them.

_ No heartbeat _ , she read. Her father no longer had his. _ No heartbeat _ . She’d never had one.  _ No heartbeat _ . Was she dead? Was she undead?

_ No heartbeat _ .

She stared at her father’s penmanship until the letters no longer looked like they formed words.

“I thought I might find you here, Teach.”

Byleth closed the book and looked up. Claude, of course. There was something she wanted to say something to him. What was it? She couldn’t remember.

_ No heartbeat _ .

“I’m sorry about your father," he said. "I still have both my parents, so… I can't pretend to know what it's like."

He sat on the ground beside her, leaning back and resting his head against the wall. Something about how close he was sitting to her pulled her out of her mourning for a few moments. Why was that odd? Right - because he’d been avoiding her, Byleth recalled. Because...

“Was he the one that gave you your stuffed bear?” Claude asked. 

Byleth frowned. She didn’t remember anything about a stuffed bear. Was he avoiding her because of a toy? 

“What?” she said. Her voice cracked with lack of use over these past few days.

“The, um, stuffed bear,” Claude said. He scratched the back of his head, looking a little embarrassed. “The one that was impaled with a throwing knife.”

“Oh.” Her stuffed bear. She hadn’t thought about it in a long time, and she’d forgotten she told the story to Claude that first night they met over a mostly-full bottle of scotch that had long since been depleted. The scotch she’d purchased as a mercenary, the peaty kind that her father disliked. “Yes. He was.”

“What was its name?” Claude asked.

The memory seemed infinitely far away, obscured by the same thick fog that had made her movements sluggish since the day she’d shed her first tears. Still, the words came to her lips, though it felt more like the answer was whispered into her ear rather than her recalling from her heart. “I called it Bear.”

“Bear,” Claude repeated, slowly. She could hear the amused disbelief hidden behind his sharp articulation as he tried to remain polite and considerate. Maybe he thought it would sting if he laughed at how she’d been as a child. On the contrary, Byleth couldn’t feel much of anything at the moment.

“My father told me that I struggled to pronounce his name when I was young,” she said by way of explanation. Piece by piece, pictures slotted into her mind: a brown plush bear with frayed ears that wouldn’t stay up; the words “Here you go, kiddo” from lips trying to keep a fond smile from spilling forward; nights of watching through the windows with the bear pressed against her side, waiting for her father to come home from the evening’s raid. Her vigilance would always give in the moment she caught sight of his mousy brown rattail, and she’d never once managed to still be awake by the time he came in to check up on her. “I couldn’t pronounce the J so I called him  _ Bearalt _ . I suppose he bought me the toy so I’d always have some form of him with me, even when he was away on missions.” She paused. “I’d forgotten about it until now.”

“He sounds…” Claude chuckled and shook his head. “I’d never imagined the Captain of the Knights to have such a soft side.” His eyes settled on the book laid in Byleth’s lap and narrowed. “Is that his  _ diary _ ?”

Byleth followed his gaze, running a hand across its leatherbound cover. It was Jeralt’s diary, sure, but what did that mean? She’d been reading it for the past hour but had understood little of it, her mind trudging through a haze with no direction.

Claude inched closer, his knees now knocking against hers as he turned to face her. She stared at them. “Teach…” he started hesitantly before his resolve strengthened and his tone shifted towards insistent. “Would you mind letting me read that diary?”

She tore her gaze away from the steeple that their knees formed. Claude’s face was close to hers, a downward tilt to his brows and a tightness to his jaw. Claude, she remembered - the one whose smiles were timed and whose ambitions were vague. And this look of his she hadn’t seen before, and it spoke of determination despite all costs.

He  _ really _ wanted to read her father’s diary. Why, she wondered? What did her father have to do with these ambitions of his that he, even now, refused to share with her?

And just as the word  _ no _ was on Byleth’s lips, she also remembered why Claude had been avoiding her in the first place. Because she’d recoiled from him and she’d broken something between them when she did. And she didn’t know why, because it didn’t make any sense, but the idea of losing Claude in addition to losing her father twisted her stomach and dried the refusal in her throat.

So she pressed the journal into his hands and let go. She would support him, even if she didn’t know what for. “I trust you,” she said.

Even as she hoped he wouldn’t betray her, all Byleth could think of was the red-headed girl she’d saved dancing around her father and pushing a knife into his back.


	7. T is for Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Life will move forward, with or without you," her father once taught her. "Keep up or get left behind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!
> 
> This weekend, giving thanks to StealthFlower for reading through this and fixing things up :DDD 
> 
> Chapter updates will be slow in December as I'm traveling out of the country for the holidays.

Everything in her classroom was the same as when she'd left it. The books on the shelves that she'd hand selected and encouraged her students to peruse through still sat in the same order, untouched; the map of Fódlan adorned the wall across it, with the words "Fart-ghus" scribbled over "Faerghus" and "Ass-drestia" scribbled over "Adrestia" that none of her students would own up to having written. Everything was as it was when her father was still alive.

The only indication that she'd taken a brief sabbatical to mourn the past few days was the attentiveness of her students. Not one dared to let themselves be distracted during her first lecture back after Manuela and Hanneman had covered for her.

"And in the event of reinforcements arriving and ambushing your troops?" Byleth quizzed the room at large.

Sothis answered with a bit of snark, "We use my power to rewind time so we can reposition ourselves accordingly." 

Byleth ignored Sothis' remark. Fine, maybe she did use Sothis' power more than she strictly needed - but she'd be a poor tactician not to use all the tools at her disposal, right?

"Hilda?" she called.

Hilda's eyes widened in alarm. "Umm…" she started nervously, twirling her long pink hair around a finger, "we lay down our weapons and nicely ask the enemy commander to please take it easy on us?" She plastered on a winning smile.

Lorenz scoffed, "Hilda! You cannot just flirt with the enemy as a battle tactic! Even the mere suggestion of it is unbecoming of a noble."

Hilda's smile dropped and she let out an exasperated sigh. "Ugh, well I don't  _ know _ , Professor." But then she straightened and said in that sugary voice of hers that she used to avoid work, "Why don't you ask Lorenz? He seems to be well informed about the subject. I'm sure we can all learn from what he has to say."

Byleth acquiesced, because maybe it was a bit mean to put Hilda on the spot like that. "Very well. Lorenz, perhaps you might know?"

Lorenz drew himself up to his full height in his chair. "As a noble, it is imperative to serve as a compass in times of crises. We must not falter in our attack and if certain death is imminent for us as the commander of the troops, then so be it."

"Pah," Felix spat from the back of the classroom. "As far as I’m concerned, more reinforcements means more training. There's nothing  _ noble _ about death."

"Felix, are you  _ trying _ to be the most insensitive prick right now?" Leonie exclaimed, shooting up from her seat. "Captain Jeralt - " She broke off, uncertain and looking increasingly distraught until she collapsed back into her chair, resting her head in her hands. "I'm sorry - it's just - "

“We’re getting off topic,” Lysithea said impatiently. She was seated at the front of the classroom as she always was, notes neatly organized before her. “ _ I _ think that in the case of an ambush, it is reasonable to fall back and consolidate the troops before pressing another attack.”

“Very good,” Byleth said, and Lysithea beamed. But then her eyes drew to the corner of the classroom, where Claude lounged with one leg propped up on the edge of the desk, wearing a casual grin and a speculative stare.

It seemed lately that her body was hyper aware of the house leader whenever he was near and her thoughts would suddenly swarm. They still hadn't confronted why he'd distanced himself from her before her father's death and why she'd been brusque with him when he revealed her tell. Instead, they'd been acting like the past month had never happened - as if neither of them had their egos injured by the other, as if her father were still alive… as if she hadn't given him Jeralt's diary.

Everything seemed fine, but it all felt wrong.

“And Claude,” she said, calling upon him because given how long she'd just watched him back from the front of the classroom, it would have been odd not to. “What do you think?”

He slid his feet off the table and leaned onto his elbows. “I think it’s a trick question,” he said. "You haven't told us what the landscape looks like, what routes the reinforcements are swarming in from, or just how many reinforcements there are. When you're in battle and you're taken by surprise, there's not going to be a one size fits all solution."

Hilda rolled her eyes. "The Professor wouldn't try to  _ trick _ us, Claude. That's something  _ you _ would do."

Claude caught Byleth's eye, amusement flickering through his own as he suppressed his laughter - a contrast from his usual habit, Byleth thought, of loud laughter and silenced eyes. But he didn’t at all reference any of the times she’d played him in their poker nights and merely winked at Hilda, deflecting the conversation. “Touché. You see right through me, don’t you, Hilda?”

And there it was again - his easy admission of defeat that obscured a larger truth.

Sothis hummed in thought. "So many secrets and ambitions that child keeps to himself," she mused. "Perhaps, because he is as accustomed to loneliness as you are?"

She didn’t explicitly say it, but Byleth had been around Sothis long enough to know what she truly meant by that observation -  _ perhaps, the two of you should remedy your loneliness together? _

There was something deeply poetic in the undertones of Sothis' suggestion that Byleth and Claude each discover the meaning of trust with the other. It was exactly the sort of nonsense that someone as romantic as Sothis would spout.

“Claude is right in his own fashion,” Byleth said, ignoring Sothis and returning to her lecture. “There is not a one-size-fits-all solution when you’re taken by surprise. But you’re more likely to come out alive of such a surprise attack if you’ve at least considered the scenario before.  _ That _ is what makes a good tactician: someone who can quickly adapt to changes in parameters. And  _ that _ is why we are brainstorming different strategies right now."

As her class busied in their notes and their continued discussion, Sothis scoffed, "My notions are not  _ nonsense _ . And I am not a romantic. I have seen far more of the world than you have in your short years,  _ child _ ." She settled deeper into Byleth's mind, doing so rather petulantly in Byleth's opinion. "I am glad that I share in your life," she continued, a slightly snide lilt to her voice. "You lecture these students about predicting surprise attacks, and yet you remain woefully ignorant of much. I shall look forward to the day you experience a surprise attack in the matters of the heart."

Byleth doubted it. Her heart didn’t beat nearly enough to warrant any sort of surprise attack. Jeralt had pretty much confirmed  _ that _ .

“That is not what I meant,” Sothis said crossly - though she refused to expand any further on her sentiments which, in Byleth’s opinion, rendered the entire conversation useless.

* * *

"Life will move forward, with or without you," her father once taught her. "Keep up or get left behind."

She'd been a child then, slow in packing what little belongings she had before hitting the road again for the next job. Instead of rounding up her things, she had spent her time sneaking out of her window and climbing up on the roof to say good-bye of the view of the town sprawling in the east. She remembered turning an expressionless face towards her father, who then chuckled and said, "All right, so you know I won't leave you behind. Still, get a move on."

But life did move forward, and her father did end up leaving her behind. And Byleth had to take his advice given years too early and keep up lest it move on without her. The world still turned, but for Byleth, a little off-kilter - as if all the colors of her day-to-day were a little more muted somehow.

"Haven't seen ya round much there, Countess," Fidget said as she and Claude seated themselves at the poker table on her first foray into the underground after her father's passing. "Was wondering if you and Earl Grey got into a spat since he's been coming alone lately."

Byleth turned to Claude, eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. She hadn't realized that he'd started venturing into the underground on his own. Not that she didn't think he was ready for it, in retrospect - but… why would he?

Claude was a man of motives. He couldn't have been sneaking out of the monastery independently just because of his love of the game, could he?

"I told you that there wasn't anything to worry about," Claude said easily as he arranged his coins before him. "What, are you saying you don't  _ believe _ me?"

"Your claims that you needed to win on your own to graduate from whetstone status  _ were  _ highly suspicious," Spades drawled, cigar smoke escaping from her lips as she spoke.

"Once a whetstone, always a whetstone," Fidget chirped unhelpfully in a manner that made Byleth think that this was not the first time Fidget had said those words. 

How much life had passed her by, Byleth wondered, while she was mourning her father's death?

"All good, Countess?" asked the large man who had been the one to ask about Byleth's relationship with Claude all those weeks back. Claude called him Boots for the heavy shoes he trekked in with, and Byleth thought that he might be the only regular in this scene who liked her better than Claude.

Not that Byleth minded, of course. Boots was just the type to prefer silence in his game, much as Byleth did.

"Earl told us you were held hostage at your day gig," Spades said as she dealt the next round.

"Day gig," Byleth echoed to herself. Was that how Claude explained the death of her father? "Yeah. It’s been dealt with.” It hadn’t been dealt with.

“Too bad,” Spades said, a smile at her lips. “I was looking forward to a subpar performance tonight in the hopes that your day gig stress might impact your play.”

She said no more on the subject, and Byleth thought that was what she appreciated about the underground - how privately everyone kept their personal lives to themselves. No one cared about  _ why _ anyone else was compelled to bring bullions to the gambling table. Everyone was entitled to their own secrets, unlike at the monastery where the likes of Hanneman hounded her for her Crest and the likes of Manuela hounded her for gossip.

“Wouldn’t mind winning back a few coins myself,” grumbled Fidget, though Byleth thought that he had no right to talk given the tidy sum he had amassed before him. “With all the new merchants milling about at Garreg Mach lately, having a bit more spending cash doesn't hurt.”

Byleth frowned. Were there a lot of new merchants in the area? She hadn’t noticed - though perhaps it was only remarkable to someone like Fidget whose residency at Garreg Mach presumably lasted far longer than her current tenure of less than a year. Byleth hadn’t considered the number of traders in the market to be anything out of the ordinary.

“If you’re looking to donate your funds to a local merchant, well,” Claude said, stacking his buy-in in the middle of the table, “I’d gladly offload some of your burdens from you.”

“Ain’t nothing local about you, boy,” Fidget said, though his tone was good-natured. “Besides, I’m not one for tea. Sampled a few in my time and I can’t taste no difference at all. I’ll stick with beer.”

If Claude weren’t here, Byleth would've toasted her own beer to Fidget - perhaps a gaudy way to express a sentiment, but after almost a year of sipping what Byleth considered to be essentially dried compost juice, a bit of gaudiness could be excused. Instead, she suggested, "That might make you a good tea merchant, then, if you wouldn't be tempted to consume your own wares."

"Unlike the Countess here," Claude said with a playful half-smile that came so easily. There was something warm about the face he was wearing, and it alarmed Byleth that she wasn’t sure if it was real or if it was just for show. "Some days I think she only likes me for my tea."

Well, if nothing else, it seemed like Byleth was still able to keep some secrets despite her tell, at least.

"And to keep her blade sharp, you whetstone," Fidget piped up as he took a second peek at his cards before raising.

“To be fair, keeping a sharp blade is wise as of late,” Spades said, stepping in before Claude could protest. “Have you heard that the Captain of the Knights was killed recently, and on monastery grounds? Something’s happening behind those walls.”

Byleth’s throat dried and blood pounded in her ears.  _ Thanks for all your help, sir _ . She heard the syrupy voice of the redhead every night, like she heard it now.  _ You’re just a pathetic old man. _ They were the last words her father had heard before he died, she’d realized later, because Byleth had never  _ said _ anything. And now, they seemed to be all Byleth could hear, echoing in the background of a world that spun relentlessly forward.

She felt Claude shift beside her a little, but she refused to look at him. If she did… 

“Don’t be an alarmist,” Fidget said, a slight frown tugging at the corners. “I’m sure…”

If she did look to Claude… she wasn’t sure she would see what she wanted to see.

Byleth instead fixed her gaze on Spades. “You sound like you knew him personally.” Her voice sounded chapped to her ears.

Spades looked up, eyebrows slightly raised. “Heavens, no,” she said around her cigar as she revealed her hand of a full house that would claim the pot. Byleth waited, still but impatient, for the woman to sort through her winnings before Spades removed her cigar from her lips and continued, “But the Knights of Seiros are a legendary force, and for its captain to fall at home…” She shook her head. “It might be nothing, but with all the remaining Knights now dispatched elsewhere - safer to be prepared than not, I think.”

“Trouble,” Boots said, his voice deep and slow. He grunted as he leaned back into the creaking chair. “I’m sick of it.”

Claude chuckled humorlessly. “Seems trouble’s been paying visits to more than one of us lately,” he said.

“Strange creatures around,” Boots mumbled. “Went to my usual hunting grounds. Things weren’t right. Found tracks from no animal I’d ever seen before. Monstrous prints that started from nowhere.”

Sothis perked up from the back of Byleth’s mind. “Monstrous prints?” she repeated. “He could not mean Demonic Beasts, could he?”

Byleth’s thoughts went much the same. “And where did they lead?” she asked Boots.

He looked at Byleth silently for a few moments, the furrow in his brow never leaving. “If you’d seen tracks like those, you wouldn’t want to follow them either.” He heaved a sigh as he leaned forward to push his cards on the table and gather his coins. “Bad luck to talk about these things,” he said by way of good-bye.

Boots left behind a lingering silence at the table. Byleth finally chanced a glance at Claude, but his gaze was upwards and to the left, with a frown staining his lips. 

“It’s a good time for a sharp blade and a whetstone,” Byleth said softly, shuffling the deck.

Spades laughed - loud, short, and sharp. “A good time for a blade, a whetstone, and a stiff drink,” she agreed.

* * *

They didn’t linger by the door to her room this time after their expedition to the underground. Instead, Byleth grabbed Claude by the wrist and spun him into her room, closing the door behind her.

“Whoah, Teach,” Claude said, holding his hands up. “Way to make a statement.”

She ignored him and dragged the two chairs around, gesturing at him to sit in one as she took a seat in the other. “I think we need to talk.”

He started at her choice in words, and Byleth cursed herself in her mind. She’d never been particularly eloquent, and every once in a while, she apparently liked to remind herself just how ineloquent she could be.

“Are you - are you  _ breaking up _ with me, Teach?” Claude said, a grin spreading across his face. “I hadn’t realized that we were dating in the first place.” When Byleth looked utterly unamused (and remained silent, mostly because she didn’t trust herself to verbally dig herself out of the hole she’d dropped herself in on), he admitted defeat and sighed. “You’re right, of course - you always are. There’s a lot to talk about. The beasts that Boots sighted, Jeralt’s diary...” He left out the part about his visits alone to the underground, Byleth noticed. “And of course, how Fidget keeps insisting on calling me  _ whetstone. _ ”

“You did start by nicknaming him after a physical ailment that he suffers,” Byleth said dryly. She had little sympathy given the nickname she had to bear as  _ Countess. _

Claude laughed. “Can’t argue with that.” He considered it for a moment. “Well, I could. But I won’t." He threw his arms up in the air dramatically and shook his head. “There’s too much to discuss already to go picking arguments. Do you really not have a heartbeat?”

Of all the things that had happened recently,  _ that _ was how he wanted to open up the conversation? By discussing her lack of a heartbeat?

Sothis mused, “To be fair, it is a fascinating concept to someone who did not have this knowledge their whole lives as you did.”

Byleth sighed and took Claude’s hand into hers, pressing it flat against her chest. His eyes followed the movement, transfixed for a moment, before a flush blossomed on the tops of his cheeks and he looked away, clearing his throat.

Maybe forcing her student to lay a hand on her breast to prove the lack of a heartbeat wasn't among her brighter ideas, Byleth realized.

"Err - "

His hand was warm underneath hers. She released it, and he all but snatched his hand back, flexing it slightly at his side.

"No heartbeat. Got it," Claude said faintly, shifting a little in his seat.

The human body had always been a matter of practicality for Byleth - not something to be sexualized, but instead something to hone into a weapon. She'd seen both men and women strip naked when on the road when their clothes hung heavy with blood, and she had done similarly herself. There was no room for shame or virtue when one's career was based on the blade.

But there was something about the way that Claude's eyes flickered briefly over to capture hers for a moment and how their color reminded her more of a shaded forest than their usual emerald that made her feel painfully aware of her own body, every inch of exposed skin tingling in the night air that she suddenly realized was cold.

Byleth was a master of silences. But this one wasn't one she was familiar with, and she was torn on how she felt about it. It made her feel anxious, yet something about the anticipation enervated her. Either way, it felt dangerous.

The world was dangerous enough at the moment without this silence to add onto it. It needed to be dispelled.

"I - there was a boy in a village we were in who would follow me and taunt me when I was younger," Byleth said. "I finally decided to beat him in a fight one day to get him to leave, and he told me I was heartless, like it were an insult. He said I'd probably never felt my heart beat before." Jeralt had seen the whole thing unfold behind a stern gaze but said nothing about it, though he did buy her a silver dagger with beautiful balance afterwards. He never did say why. "That was when I realized that what I had wasn't normal."

Claude scratched the back of his head. "Poor boy," he said, somewhat offhandedly. "You're a difficult person to have a crush on."

Byleth frowned, and Sothis was being oddly quiet. What did that have to do with anything? And what did that even  _ mean _ ?

"What?" she said.

"The boy clearly - nevermind," he said, shaking his head free of whatever thoughts plagued him and the residues of that silence he'd inflicted upon her disintegrated into nothingness. "Do you think Rhea - "

He cut himself off short, because that was a risky sentence to finish within Garreg Mach grounds.

"My father clearly did," Byleth said, answering his unspoken question. "Sometimes I do, too."

"Just sometimes?" he pressed.

It was hard to put into words. "Rhea thinks I am - well, I don't know," she admitted, stumbling over her feelings. "She seems to care for me in a way I've never experienced before."

She half expected Claude to tease her for the stilted way she'd delivered her thoughts, right off the heels of that bizarre bit about her being a hard person to fancy. But he merely nodded and said, "I know what you mean. She has a particular interest in you that doesn't seem malicious but not entirely natural all the same." He tilted his head, a finger running along his chin. "Reading Jeralt's diary explains some things - like why Rhea was so quick to entrust professorship to you. But it also opens so many more questions."

"She trusts me, but I don't know why," Byleth admitted. "And that makes me trust her less." Ever since the talk with Sothis that forced her to confront her lack of faith in others, it seemed that examples kept cropping up elsewhere in her life.

"I…" That peculiar look he wore, the one she first saw several months back when she'd defended her intention to recruit Felix with blurring Fódlan political lines, came over him again. He exhaled slowly before setting his lips to a thin line. "I understand, Teach. I really do."

The cause of furtive glances she'd sent his way over the past month sat heavy in her heart. "I'm sorry," she blurted out abruptly. "I've realized - when you told me about my tell - that I don't trust easily." She suddenly realized her lips were dry and she licked them, Claude's eyes tracking the flicker before he turned away. "I just - I meant it when I said I want to support you, I'm just still learning  _ how _ ."

Claude was quiet for a moment. He was usually so full of words. Had she broken him? Had she proven herself weaker and more confused than he thought of her and no longer wanted her support? Had the masked smiles he wore not been for the other company, but because of her?

But then he just nodded and said, "I figured you might have gone through something like that."

Byleth paused, confused. "But you avoided me after - "

" _ Well _ , I didn't figure it out  _ immediately _ ," Claude said hastily. "You - you’re - “ He sighed, running a hand through his hair and catching his braid as he did so. "You once told me that most untrustworthy people don't actively warn others away from them," he said finally. "And I believe that I once mentioned that my childhood wasn't like others. All I can say is that I learned quickly not to let anyone in too close. But… you're different." A bit of his earlier flush revisited his cheeks. "I don't know when it began, but your opinions started to really matter to me. So when you pulled away - I don’t know. I thought maybe it was happening again, with someone I thought was close turning out to be...”

His words trailed off into an aggravated sigh as he shook his head. “Anyways,” he continued. “I’m sorry it took until your father’s death for me to come around.”

And Byleth realized that perhaps the crux of her inability to have faith in others was that she never had many people that she needed - or even  _ wanted  _ \- to trust, whereas Claude had once trusted fervently and been betrayed by it. A thought in the back of her mind whispered that Claude deserved better than what she could offer - that someone who’d clearly been hurt as he had deserved someone who knew the meaning of trust and not someone still struggling over its articulation as she was. 

“And - ” Claude started again. “Thanks for letting me read his diary. I know it wasn’t a normal ask, but it meant a lot that you lent it to me.”

He’d said that it took until her father’s death for him to come around… Was his plea to borrow the diary not just for his own ambitions, but a test of his own? He’d thought she’d been ready to turn away from him, following the footsteps of those who’d betrayed him before. Behind that brazen confidence was a boy with insecurities, and maybe he’d partially forced his ask to read the diary to better understand where they stood with each other.

She reached across and took his hands into her own, squeezing it. Claude’s gaze lingered on their interlocked hands.

“If it turns out that Boots’ sighting really is related to those that killed your father,” he said, “would you want revenge?”

_ Revenge _ . She’d seen its face many times, lurking beneath the skin of many of her employers as a mercenary and behind many of those she cut down. A mercenary had no right to a revenge that could dispute the priority of the job, and so Byleth had long viewed revenge as a luxury for those who could afford to be consumed by emotion without reason. She’d seen how ugly people could turn under the addictive grip of revenge, never quenched despite the growing trail of corpses left in its wake.

And yet...

“I hear Monica’s voice every night,” she said quietly. “The last words he’d heard before he died. A pathetic old man, she called him. She stabbed in the back and called him a  _ pathetic old man _ .”  _ Thanks for all your help, sir _ . It echoed again now.

She swallowed. “I’m a mercenary, Claude. I kill for gold. I’ve done many despicable things, but I’ve never  _ wanted  _ a death before.”

“But now you do,” Claude finished for her. He laid his other hand atop of hers and they sat there, holding hands over the promise of death in a small monastery bedroom. “We’ll find her, Teach. I promise.”

* * *

He made good on his promise. They did find Monica -  _ Kronya _ \- and see her to her grave.

But there’s always a price to pay when submitting to the desire for revenge.

“No,” Byleth insisted. “I won’t allow it.”

“You must,” Sothis said, her words slow and grave. “The time has come for you and I to join as one and that I relinquish all the power that I have… to you.”

Byleth thought of this otherworldly darkness that separated them from her students below. She thought of her childhood imaginations around festival lights, of stars descended from the heavens to litter the earth. She thought of Sothis taking her to the Goddess Tower, and now Sothis returning her to the ground.

Sothis, who she’d disagreed with and snapped at for much of their time together; who always slept at inopportune moments halfway through conversations. But if she were honest with herself, Byleth had come to rely on Sothis’ wisdom and enjoy her companionship. It had been Sothis who helped Byleth work through her emotions and offered comfort when Claude’s observations at the poker table had pierced her ego, and it had been Sothis who encouraged her to indulge in simple personal wants on the night of the ball.

Sothis, whose pride in Byleth’s teaching efforts was a source of comfort for Byleth as she transitioned from mercenary to professor; whose love was so generous that she blessed Byleth with the power to rewind time for students that Sothis was never even able to personally know.

“I’ve just lost my father,” Byleth said. “I can’t also - ” She broke off.

“I do not mean that all I am will be no more,” Sothis said kindly, in the way Byleth thought a dying mother might comfort a child. “My soul will join with yours, and you and I will never be apart.”

There would be no dissuading her, Byleth knew. And ultimately… she wasn’t ready to die. Not when she was still learning so much about herself, about who she was, about her students who  _ needed _ her.

"I'm sorry for all the times I've dismissed you as unhelpful commentary," Byleth said.

Sothis smiled, her tone gentler than its usual indignant scoff in the light of this being their last banter. "And called me names, like the amnesiac and the narcoleptic?"

Byleth returned it. "That too."

"I shall miss talking to you,” Sothis admitted. “Even if you did dismissed me half of the time, quite disrespectfully, might I add." But then she sobered with a look far too serious to be worn on a child's face and she said, "I'm sorry that you never experienced a normal childhood because of me."

"Don't be sorry for that," Byleth said. She doesn’t know what a normal childhood is, but she’s sure she wouldn’t have had one anyways with Jeralt as her father.

“Regardless, I shall be sorry all the same,” Sothis said as she stood from her throne. “The time has come to be yours to bend. You know I am the Beginning.”

She descended the steps, regal and elegant, and Byleth wondered how she ever thought Sothis could look like a child.

“What shall you do?”

* * *

_ “Teach!” _

It sounded desperate, aggrieved.

Byleth opened her eyes.

Her mind felt empty. Almost achingly so.

* * *

Everything in her classroom was the same as when she'd left it, except today, Sothis was quiet - as she would be forever more - and…

There was a stuffed bear on her desk. It was not at all like the one she'd had growing up, for this one was far better made and had the fur on its head trimmed to resemble the rugged haircut that Jeralt always kept but Byleth thought looked decades outdated (“It looks like a raccoon found a nest atop your head and never left,” she’d once said to him), and it in turn was holding a bottle of scotch - the one she recognized to have served to Claude in their evening games - the kind that used to make Jeralt say "You  _ like _ this peaty stuff?" But then he’d drink her stash anyways, despite her never inviting him to partake; and the kind that Sothis used to berate her about when she indulged just a little too much.

"Hilda made the bear," was all Claude could get out before Byleth was laughing - no, she was crying - and outside it was raining against a sunny sky.

She vaguely heard Leonie poke Claude to ask if she was okay ("Of  _ course _ she is, she's the strongest person I know," Felix interrupted dismissively), and Raphael worriedly musing that they should have gotten her a slab of steak instead, or something far more fierce and scary. But Marianne, who was always so timid and never knew what to do with herself, wordlessly slipped beneath Byleth's arms and wrapped her into a hug, and Ignatz too, and she thought she maybe heard Hilda also crying somewhere as Lorenz put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Our hearts are with yours, Professor. You have made the Golden Deer house a home for us all, and within it, we all hurt with you. Never forget that we are here for you, too, should you need us."

"Well put, Lorenz," Claude agreed. "Perhaps you could even say that your pains are also ours to  _ bear _ ?"

"You've been around Alois too much," Lysithea accused before turning to Byleth, her stance wide and determined. "I've experienced a great loss in my past as well, Professor. You  _ will _ heal, and we will help you find those that started this mess."

_ Protect the little ones _ , Byleth heard in Sothis’s voice, so ghostlike that Byleth was sure it was just her imagination.

“We meant to make this for you sooner,” Claude said a little sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “But it took a while to get all the funds together, you know. It seems like whoever’s in charge of the pursestrings keeps spending the class payroll on  _ tea _ .”

And despite the jab, Byleth smiled, because that was why he’d gone to the poker table alone recently - for  _ her _ .

The rain let up.

“I am lucky to have you all,” she said, and she meant it.


	8. T is for Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wondered if his insecurities had been rearing its head again, telling the story of a boy who’d been hurt before. "I won't disappear."
> 
> "You already did once," he pointed out, the front of his chair slamming back down as he leaned forward. He grinned. "Or did you already forget about the part where the sky ate you and turned your hair green? Who knew goddesses' memories could be so fickle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive massive thank you to StealthFlower for proofing and helping me clean this up so quickly! She's the reason this chapter came out before 2020. :D

One thing Byleth had oft wondered was why Seteth had assigned her room to be among the student dorms, while Manuela and Hanneman had offices on the second floor of the central monastery building. Probably because he disliked her and wished her further away from his own office, and also likely because he’d given Flayn the room that was supposed to be the third professor’s office, if what she had overheard from Hanneman was correct.

If he did it out of any sort of spite, it had backfired, for Byleth appreciated how close her rooms were to the training grounds and the sauna. Not to mention, the distance between her and Seteth’s office made it far easier for her to meet up with Claude on their evening forays into the underground without attracting Seteth’s notice.

Flayn could keep that room as far as Byleth cared, but if she had to wager a guess, the student didn't appreciate her given accommodations, either. Being forever stuck under Seteth's watchful eye made it harder for her to model for Ignatz's paintings, or whatever the kids called it these days.

Lately, however, Seteth seemed to be haunting _ Byleth's _ footsteps. Byleth was constantly catching him out of the corner of her eye when she turned, finding him lost in thought. Which was odd, because him haunting _ her _ footsteps meant that he wasn't shadowing Rhea and Flayn as he usually did. 

She wasn't the only one to notice. "You think Seteth's got a thing for women with green hair?" Sylvain asked in his faux casual voice, the right side of his smirk pulling up higher than the other. "Well, Professor, if you happen to have a thing for men with _ red _ hair - "

He didn't get to finish that sentence, since Ingrid suddenly appeared to pinch his ear. "Sylvain, I _ hope _ you aren't flirting with our _ professor _," she said, daring him to contradict as she dragged him back to the Blue Lions classroom.

"She's our professor for only one more month," Sylvain protested as they disappeared around the corner. "_ Ow _, watch what you're doing - "

It was about then that Byleth realized that she should probably confront the right hand of the archbishop, and soon.

* * *

"Professor," Seteth said cordially. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

His tone was much improved from when they'd first met, when he'd vocally protested her hire in front of her. Hanneman had later privately criticized Seteth as tactless and apologized on his behalf, but Byleth didn't mind. Tactless though he may be, Seteth was the only person with enough sense to be alarmed by the impromptu hiring of a mercenary with no teaching background and a reputation for indifference, it seemed.

Besides, Hanneman could afford to learn some tact himself with the background check he'd run on her behind her back in an effort to learn more about her Crest.

Maybe Seteth liked her better now that she'd proven that she could serve as an adequate teacher, or because of all those errands she'd run for him over the course of the year. Or maybe Sylvain was onto something, that Seteth liked her better now that her hair color matched Lady Rhea's.

"You forgot to bait your line," Byleth said, holding out an earthworm she'd found earlier in the day. Leonie thought it was an admirable skill, how Byleth was constantly finding fishing bait across the monastery. Hilda considered it a curse that so many insects and worms seemed to materialize around Byleth.

"Oh. Thank you." He plucked the worm from her fingers, rolling it between his own for a moment. "I must confess, I do not know how to bait a fishing line."

He - what?

This man - the person Byleth had long considered to be the only monastery official with any sense - often went fishing without even knowing how to tie a worm to the end of his hook.

"You must think it strange," he acknowledged, "that I fish to meditate and not for fish."

_ Yes _, Byleth thought, but she instead said mildly, "We are all eccentric." She held her hand out. "I can tie it for you, if you'd like."

"Oh," Seteth started, surprised. "Yes. Thank you." He returned the earthworm and watched her make quick work of it with a glaze to his eyes. He didn't immediately cast his line when she handed it back to him, instead holding up the string and inspecting the worm that dangled from it. After a pause, he said, "My wife had always baited the line for me in the past, and I realized after she passed that I never learned from her."

She hadn't known that Seteth had once been married. He looked too young to be a widower, but then again, his sister also looked too young to be enrolled as a student at the academy.

"I suppose Captain Jeralt taught you," Seteth mused lightly. "I had never seen him fish at this pond, but Alois praised his skill frequently." He cast his line and the water rippled to his feet, and a sudden frown beset his features. "I realize I might never have said this, but I truly am sorry for your loss."

He said nothing more, and Byleth found that she appreciated his condolences. They were simple and precise, and he didn't try to compare his loss to that of his late wife's, but rather acknowledging her loss as her own.

"Thank you," Byleth said.

"I recall that Jeralt did not divulge much of your identity to you," he continued after a spell. "Would you be ready for the truth? All of it?"

* * *

"_ I will do all within my power to help you someday reach your truth _? That’s all he said?” Claude echoed disbelievingly after Byleth recounted her conversation with Seteth, throwing his hands in the air. “Talk about a tease. He knows something that he's not sharing, or else he wouldn't be acting so differently around you now."

Seteth hadn't been the only one with a change in behavior since her fusion with Sothis. Bernadetta, who Byleth thought she'd been getting along with, ran away wailing when Byleth approached in an attempt to return the recluse's embroidered pencil case. Dimitri had become absolutely restless, though Byleth wasn't sure if it was because of her or not. And Edelgard was acting increasingly reserved around her, which meant Hubert was increasingly hostile.

Byleth had always found it unfortunate how Hubert was determined to dislike her. It figured that the only other person in the whole monastery who disliked tea was also the only person who regularly threatened to remove her if she stood in his way… which was quite a bold statement for a student to make to their _ professor _, nobility be damned.

But now he liked her less than ever thanks to the new look. Inversely, Rhea seemed to like Byleth _ more _ than ever now that their hair color matched, and all of Rhea's behaviors that made Byleth uncomfortable before were suddenly amplified to a new level.

That was the most damning thing, Claude had said in private, unprompted, after Rhea announced this month's mission of receiving a revelation from the goddess Sothis. Ever since Byleth shared that she was skeptical of the archbishop, he had been more forward with his questioning of the church's influence.

"I don't know what Rhea expects to happen at the end of the month," Byleth said, frustrated. There were so many events and expectations around her, and yet she couldn't make sense of any of it. "If she wanted to hear what the goddess has to say, she's a few weeks too late."

"Wait," Claude said, stopping in his tracks. "What? How do you know?"

He stared at her. Byleth stared back. She wasn't sure how much to divulge. Sothis had always been most insistent of keeping their shared existence a secret, and it felt natural to Byleth to continue following her wishes even in her absence. But with Sothis and Jeralt gone, Claude was the closest thing she had left to a confidant.

How had _ that _ happened? She certainly didn't intend to make a confidant out of her _ student _, and yet...

"Because… I… merged with the goddess?” Byleth tried.

Her explanation sounded fabricated and weak, even to her. Byleth was never a particularly envious person, but at the moment, she wished that she had Claude’s ability to speak prose around anything whatsoever.

He stared at her a little longer, his lips parted as if he’d forgotten how to close them. “Sorry to disappoint you, Teach, but I can’t keep up here,” he said finally. “You say you _ merged _ with the goddess?”

How did she go about explaining her circumstance to someone who didn’t even believe that the Fodlani goddess was real? Confessing that one heard a voice in their head was grounds for insanity, let alone a voice that purportedly belonged to the _ goddess _.

“The goddess - Sothis - was a part of me, I think. We couldn’t figure out how it had happened, but she awoke shortly before I met you,” she tried again. “She gave up her power to me so that I could return from the darkness.”

_ Protect the little ones _, echoed Sothis’ voice again, like a distant memory.

“That’s why Rhea's a few weeks too late,” Byleth continued. “Because Sothis… is no longer her own person."

_ She's a part of me _, Byleth finished in her mind. She couldn't speak the words because she didn't know what they meant, and she didn't yet understand its weight.

Claude pursed his lips, jaw tight and brows creased. How must it seem to him, she wondered? So soon after the conversation about trust, she'd revealed a huge secret that she kept from him - that the goddess he didn't think existed, whose church he speculated was situated at the center of certain political tensions, was alive and well in the form of - well, _ her _. 

A man with a million schemes, and she'd bet that not one of them accounted for this.

"I might need some time to process this," he admitted before releasing a short chuckle of disbelief. "You'll never stop surprising me, will you, Teach?"

"I don't _ mean _ to," Byleth said honestly.

"It's… a good thing," he said, waving her comment away. "There never seems to be a dull moment when you're around."

"Lie," Byleth returned, allowing a small smile. "I recall you snoozing in the back of the classroom just the other day."

"Hey!" Claude exclaimed with mock offense. "We'd been out at the underground until almost dawn the night before - "

"And yet you didn't find me sleeping on the blackboard," Byleth said dismissively.

"That's hardly fair," Claude protested. "I'm only human, and turns out you're part goddess - or - full goddess - or… _ something. _ And goddesses probably don't even need sleep."

That made Byleth snort. "Oh, they do." It was no secret how much Claude appreciated lazy naps. Sothis was probably the only one Byleth knew who could give Claude a run for his bullions when it came to sleep.

"Fascinating. I wouldn't have guessed goddesses share human limitations like sleep," Claude commented. Then he inhaled sharply - as if to start a new sentence - but then merely peered at Byleth and tilted his head to the side.

"What?" she asked.

His words started hesitantly, as if he were voicing musings only half formed. "Do you _ feel _ differently as a goddess? Like - I don't know - love, hate, pain…"

Was he asking if her shared existence with Sothis had inadvertently been the reason for her stoic attitudes, or was he asking something else?

"I feel," Byleth said. "I feel more now, if anything." But she wasn't sure if it was because of her relationship with the goddess.

"I see," Claude said. He seemed to be quickly working through some thoughts. "You know, in a few short weeks we'll all be going our own ways to wherever our lives will lead us. I know we’d said that we’d all meet in five years, but you'll stay in touch, won't you?"

A few weeks, and her class would be graduating. They'd move on, and she could leave behind this job that she'd never wanted in the first place, too, now that her father was no longer here, either. Or she could welcome a new class of students.

She wondered what they'd be like - if there'd be someone like Raphael with a big appetite and an even bigger heart, or if there'd be someone like Marianne who might be quiet and wistful and in need of love.

If they'd all be just as obsessed with tea as her current deer, which she desperately hoped they wouldn't.

Or if they'd all be different, their own unique set of characters that she'd learn to care for.

"I don't know what I'll do yet," Byleth said. "But I'll keep in touch, Claude. I told you I'd support your dreams."

His posture relaxed as he kicked back on the hind legs of his chair, arms folded behind his head. "I know, I know," he said, suddenly casual. "Maybe I just like hearing you say that."

"Say what?" Byleth asked.

"That you'll support me," Claude said contentedly, and Byleth was briefly reminded of the monastery cats rolling about in the sun. "That you'll be here, and you won't disappear."

She wondered if his insecurities had been rearing its head again, telling the story of a boy who’d been hurt before. "I won't disappear."

"You already did once," he pointed out, the front of his chair slamming back down as he leaned forward. He grinned. "Or did you already forget about the part where the sky ate you and turned your hair green? Who knew goddesses' memories could be so fickle."

He didn't know the half of it, Byleth thought, privately amused. She only hoped that her own memory wouldn’t start to fray since Sothis joined with her.

"I was barely gone," she said.

“Didn’t feel like it,” Claude said, shrugging, and Byleth thought that behind his easygoing tone, he might be hiding something vulnerable. She remembered a voice ringing as she slashed through space, and it sounded agonized. Was it - ?

But he pushed forward before Byleth could even think of how to peel back the layers and said, “So, Teach. If you’re not sure what’s next for you, well, you know you’ll always be welcome in Derdriu, for visits or for even longer stays, if I could persuade you. Though if you do stay at the academy - don’t go meeting up with other students at the Goddess Tower, all right? It’d break my heart to know I’m not special.”

He flashed a winning smile that Byleth ignored. It hadn’t particularly been her intention to meet up with Claude at the Goddess Tower, though the night had inadvertently ended up being among her treasured memories. Still, to say that she had plans to meet up with her students at the Goddess Tower on its most romantic evening would be the surest way to have the academy terminate her tenure.

“So, _ Derdriu _,” Byleth said instead, focusing on the invitation. “Does that place feel like home to you yet?”

The first time she’d ever been on a boat had been sailing by Derdriu on the way to a job. They didn’t stop in the city, but she remembered leaning so far over the railing to watch the boat cut waves into the water that her father kept picking her up by the back of her shirt and moving her to the middle of the ship, just for her to run back to the edge again. 

She thought she might like to see the actual city one day.

Claude frowned, running a hand along his jaw. “To be honest, Garreg Mach is starting to feel more like home than Derdriu ever felt. Not that I’d been there long.” He sighed, and the air he released sat heavy around Byleth’s shoulders. “We never did talk about the man who’d called me Almyran scum, did we?”

They hadn’t. “I didn’t want to pry,” Byleth said. It was his secret to discuss in his own time.

“That’s where you and I are different,” Claude said, and his lips tightened briefly into a quick smile that didn’t touch his eyes before he let it drop. “Though I appreciate the space. But as you’ve well guessed by now, I grew up in Almyra. I don’t know if I ever felt truly at home there, either. But it’s more home to me than Derdriu. And you,” Claude continued, not giving time to breathe. “You were a mercenary your whole life, traveling across Fodlan. What is your home?”

Home was sticky bar floors and loud noises and a shuffle of paper as her father looked over different contracts while drinking a pint of beer. Home was the quiet lapping of water on the shore and several fishing rods grounded into the sand as her father made her pick through a bucket of earthworms.

“Home is where the people are,” Byleth said. “But he’s not here anymore.”

Claude studied her for a moment before he leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto its hind legs again. “Well, Teach,” he said to the ceiling, “I hope one day you can find a new home.”

* * *

“Well, obviously it’s Sylvain and Dorothea,” came Leonie’s distinct voice.

“Ugh, _ boooring _. What about something a little more unpredictable? Like… Annette and Felix. Ooh, or Marianne and Ferdinand!”

And _ that _ drawl was definitely Hilda’s.

Byleth rounded the corner to find the two girls sharing tea with a mosaic of scattered necklace charms littered between them. Leonie had since calmed down from aggressive competitiveness involving all things Captain Jeralt, but finding her here making jewelry with Hilda was so unlike the Leonie that Byleth personally knew that Byleth was taken aback.

“Marianne and _ Ferdinand _ ? How do you figure _ that _ one?” Leonie asked, trying to string a bead. “And how do you get multiple chains like that - ”

“Oh it’s easy, you just hold it like this and slip this on,” Hilda said, putting her own partially completed necklace down and leaning over to inspect Leonie’s work. “And I don’t know, I just saw them at dinner and thought they looked cute together. Of course, Marianne _ always _ looks cute. Oh, hello Professor!”

“Hello,” Byleth greeted in turn, looking over their table. “What are we up to?”

“Hilda was just showing me how to make a necklace,” Leonie explained. She lifted up her half completed accessory to show Byleth, and several of the beads she'd already strung slipped off their chain and clattered all over the table as she did so. "Oh, darn it."

“_ And _ discussing who would be the cutest couple at the academy,” Hilda inputted, pushing some of the fallen beads over back to Leonie. "Ooh, _ this _ gem matches your color scheme, it'd look good against the pearls - "

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “_ Would _ be?”

Hilda giggled. “You know, people who aren’t together but would be so cute if they were. Like… Ingrid and Caspar. Ingrid has so much practice reigning people in because of Sylvain, and Caspar’s always running into fights.”

"In that vein, maybe Ingrid can help reign Claude in with his pranks, too," Leonie noted, restringing her necklace.

"Ingrid and Claude, that's a good one," Hilda approved, looking over Leonie's second attempt. "Hey, you're doing pretty well with the necklace! Maybe we should make some for all the Golden Deer girls as a graduation gift."

"What do you think, Professor?" Leonie asked.

Byleth's critical eye was poorly equipped to examine accessories, but she looked anyways. "You're a good student, and Hilda's a good teacher," she said honestly. "I think the class would appreciate such a token of friendship."

It seemed so long ago somehow that she'd had to pressure Hilda to guide Claude in how to swing an axe, and the girl had since taken to teaching so effortlessly - when she bothered to put the effort in, that was. Watching Hilda play coach and Leonie take a break from her constant grind warmed her.

_ I hope one day you can find a new home _, Claude had said. She didn't have her father and she didn't have Sothis, but she still had her students.

"Thanks, Professor," Leonie said. "But I was talking about Ingrid and Claude. What do you think?"

_ Oh _.

Manuela was the one that was predisposed to matters of gossip and matchmaking, while the closest thing Byleth had in the realm of romance was the fake one she had with Claude in the underground. She’d once gotten fairly close to a fellow mercenary, but nothing had come of it by the time he was felled in an ambush.

But Byleth supposed that if Ingrid were in her class, she would consider assigning the two of them to spar together. From what Byleth saw, the aspiring knight - while not the strongest - was among the fastest and could land an accurate hit among the best of them, which was precisely the type of challenge that a marksman like Claude needed. And Claude's ability with the bow would definitely test Ingrid's speed.

Pairing sparring partners was kind of like matchmaking romantic relationships, right?

"They'd make sense," Byleth agreed, and Hilda laughed giddily and Leonie brightened as well.

"Okay, Professor," Hilda said. "Your turn."

Oh, no.

Sothis, not Byleth, had always been better at choosing which pair of her students to dine with at mealtimes. 

"Hilda, well done," said a new voice as Claude came sweeping around the hedge. "I have no idea what you just said, but I don't think I've ever seen Teach look so terrified before."

"The professor looks the same as she always does," Hilda said, rolling her eyes. "And I didn't ask anything that'd be scarier than facing all those monsters in battle."

"I know some people who would rather face a thousand monsters over facing you any day," Claude said to Hilda. “You can be quite overwhelming. In a good way, of course.”

“We were just asking the professor who in the academy would make the cutest couple,” Leonie said bluntly, interrupting Claude and Hilda from the spiral of teasing and bickering that they often tended towards.

“Cutest couple?” Claude laughed, and his gaze settled on her with an unexpected fondness that confused Byleth and made her feel... what? “Ah. That explains the look of abject terror, then,” he said, an echo of a smile still on his lips.

It made her feel like she still had a home, Byleth thought. As if maybe she’d never truly lost it in the first place.

“Oh, don’t tie it like _ that _ , Leonie, it’ll be so _ bulky _,” Hilda suddenly interrupted, tugging the necklace out of Leonie’s hands.

“That’s how I string my bows,” Leonie said, a little defensively - though she still sat up straighter to peer at Hilda’s demonstration.

“Well, now you’ll learn how to tie a new knot,” Hilda said simply, fingers already working at untangling the string.

Claude caught Byleth’s eye and grinned. And Byleth smiled back, because she realized that she was happy she was their teacher.

* * *

But her deliberation about which path she’d walk once graduation rolled around turned out to be unnecessary, and her promises hollow.

For someone who was supposedly able to control the ebb and flow of time, Byleth found that the number of surprises life threw her way was shockingly high. Claude had once said she relied on numbers when she revealed that she hadn’t expected to recover Flayn alive, and he was right. Numbers were pure, free of emotional bias. They weren’t always exact, but Byleth could account for deviations to an extent. And having the powers of someone literally nicknamed _ The Beginning _ ought to _ help _ with the number crunching and offer more clues to whatever secrets the future held.

Then why, Byleth wanted to demand of Sothis, did she not see so many things coming her way?

For example, she didn’t foresee the Flame Emperor intercepting them on their way to receive whatever _ revelation _ Rhea was expecting, and she didn’t foresee the emperor turning out to be the _actual_ emperor, Edelgard. And she didn’t foresee Rhea forcing upon her an unsolicited promotion from professor to _ archbishop _ , right after Byleth had finally decided that she liked her current job. And she definitely didn’t foresee Rhea turning into a - a _ dragon _?!

But she did see Claude and Dimitri rushing to face the surprise invasion, their blows landing upon a man who looked suspiciously like a merchant who’d sold her tea a few times. And she definitely saw the cliff that opened up into a chasm with a river churning at its pit.

She just didn’t foresee that she’d fall to its bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter update in 5 years. See you in 2024.
> 
> jk but next update will be delayed as I'm going on vacation for a few weeks! After which we'll revisit the underground, I promise. Happy holidays & happy new year, thanks for reading!


	9. T is for Timeskip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years. Five years she'd apparently been sleeping with a river as a blanket and bedrock for - well, a bed, and she'd earned the worst crick in her neck as a reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge huge thank you to StealthFlower for revising this chapter from the mess it was.
> 
> This one's more of an interlude than its own chapter and written entirely from the car during the holiday trip. Hope you enjoy!

Someone was talking.

Byleth was exhausted. Her eyelids were lead and her body had been turned to gelatin, and she felt as if she were strung together by only her bones, with her muscles and flesh shaking with every breath.

Whoever was running their mouth hadn't stopped. They were still talking.

Could they not? Couldn't they see she was sleeping?

She heard an insulted scoff.

"Get up. I shall coddle you no more."

But… that sounded like… Sothis? It couldn't be. Sothis was gone. And why would  _ Sothis _ , of all people, scold her for sleeping?

Byleth blearily blinked her eyes open, and her cognitive abilities slowly returned. Sothis wasn't there, and neither was her voice.

There was, however, a man with mousy brown hair and eyes that slanted downwards, staring down at her with concern.

And - how did she get so drenched?

* * *

Five  _ years _ . Five years she'd apparently been sleeping with a river as a blanket and bedrock for - well, a bed, and she'd earned the worst crick in her neck as a reward. She didn't understand how sleeping for so long under such conditions was even  _ possible _ .

Five  _ years _ . What did she expect to see left of Garreg Mach? What did she expect to see from her old students? And Claude - she had promised him she'd see his dreams through and that -

Her stomach twisted. Would he still want her aid now after she proved unable to keep her promise not to disappear on him? Had he moved on from her, without her? Had all her students? Did they all think her dead?

_ Five years _ . She supposed that she hoped that her students had moved on in that time, but it cleaved a hole in her chest to think of all that they might have needed from her while lost in slumber.

And why? Because…

Images flashed through her mind: a dragon with a furious roar. A helmet clattering to the ground. A rabid pack of demonic beasts.  _ Edelgard _ .

From what she understood from the village man's ramblings in her half-awake stupor, Edelgard's war raged on still. How had she failed Edelgard so miserably that the empress thought it necessary to resort to war to achieve… what?

Byleth still had no idea what deep secrets could have prompted Edelgard to don the mask of the Flame Emperor. To that regard, she didn't even know  _ Claude _ ' _ s _ ambitions to their full extent.

How could she even  _ think _ that she could have guided her Golden Deer into adulthood when she evidently knew so little about them? She...

_ No _ . Byleth steeled herself. She might not know their secrets, but she knew that she trusted her students and that she wanted the best for them. She knew that she'd promised herself to support them, and that was  _ enough _ .

Five years. They said they'd reunite at Garreg Mach in five years. Would they remember? Would they care to remember?

" _ Enough _ , Byleth," she muttered to herself with finality. She'd go to Garreg Mach. And if the grounds were empty, she'd find them - somehow - and make up for the years she failed them.

She quickened her pace and tucked the Sword of the Creator beneath her cloak, unsheathing her dagger instead. Bandits didn't bother with those who looked like they knew their way around a weapon and had nothing worth stealing. And if they did come for her…

Well, she didn't wake up after falling off a cliff five years ago just to be killed by a band of amateur bandits.

* * *

Five years was enough to send Garreg Mach into partial ruin.

The silhouette that the monastery cast across the horizon had slumped, with the dome that once been the church ceiling now just a jagged outline against the sky. Any wood left standing was blackened with scorch marks and the surrounding fields were somehow at once both barren and overgrown.

Byleth walked along her usual route, the heels of her boots echoing loudly against the stone floors without any sounds of life to swallow it. The greenhouse had been picked bare of its flowers, now a kingdom of tangled weeds. The lake was green and still, and floating within it was only a single fish with an upturned belly and flesh half pecked by vultures. The marketplace felt empty without the Gatekeeper's friendly hello and the dining hall haunted without Raphael's booming cheer.

By the time her feet brought her back to the door to her room, she was afraid of what memories within she'd find likewise destroyed. She'd lost both her father and Sothis during her time at Garreg Mach. Were the souvenirs of what she had gained during this time now lost as well?

She stood at the doorway, staring at the closed door.

Here she'd once exchanged poker observations with Claude. It didn't feel so long ago that he'd told her of her tell, here in this very spot. And yet it somehow had been  _ years _ , and Byleth couldn't wrap her mind around it.

Garreg Mach seemed to be the aftermath of an overnight apocalypse that left her the only survivor.

She breathed in deeply and pushed open the door. It groaned in protest.

Her bed, she found, was still pushed to the corner of her room, her chair still neatly tucked at her desk. On it lay the bear made in Jeralt's likeness, arms open towards the ceiling. A quick sweep indicated that her scotch, hidden beneath some of her spare rags, was still only half consumed, and her stash of tea was untouched. Her box of lost items still sat mostly full on her shelf and her bulletin board still had postings from five years ago.

She picked the bear up, inspecting it before enfolding it into her arms. However… she remembered leaving the bear sitting upright upon her bed among the pillows, not on the table.

Byleth placed it back onto her bed and swept out the door.

* * *

How odd, Byleth thought as she raced up the stairs to the Goddess Tower, that the entire monastery was a ghost town but for her own room, which remained an almost untouched time capsule. There must have been someone watching over parts of the Garreg Mach, then. Maybe someone who…?

Byleth didn't dare let herself finish that thought. As she reached the tower's zenith, she flung herself from window to window, searching the grounds below.

But there was no movement.

Whoever had shuffled the bear in her room - and potentially protected its contents for five years - was no longer here.

Byleth exhaled slowly, and for a moment, her chest felt heavy. Why was she disappointed? Did she truly expect to chance upon someone after witnessing the deserted roads that had once bustled with migrants and merchants alike? Did she truly expect that someone had kept a constant vigil over only part of the monastery, and that she'd catch them now?

It was more likely that Lady Luck had kept her room safe, and that whoever had perused through her belongings had deemed nothing worth taking.

She needed a Plan B, then. Clearly none of her students had returned to the monastery despite their promise to gather in five years' time, and she didn't blame them for skipping a reunion in ruined grounds amidst an unrelenting war. She'd have to chart a route to Alliance territories. Derdriu, maybe, and if not that, then Goneril. Though Byleth didn’t yet know of the events of the war, she figured those cities would be the least likely to fall.

She needed a map. She'd avoid the main roads this time, maybe trekking through back country. It would take her longer, but what was a few more days at this point? If she took the forested roads, she could also scavenge and hunt along the way.

A light flickered to the north.

Byleth started, turning towards the north facing window and allowing a bit of hope to blossom in her chest. Could it be...?

But then more lights appeared and they shuffled around, drawing a perimeter. No, she realized. These were the movements of a bandit camp setting up for the night, and a decently sized one at that. The villager hadn’t lied about brazen galls of bandits to base themselves in once sacred grounds, but Byleth supposed desperation bred audacity like nothing else.

To her left stretched the battleground where she'd fought the day she fell from the cliffs. It lay barren still, and the stumps of trees that burned in the fire attack that Seteth had planted served as the only sign that life once flourished there. And to her right slept the town that once bustled with life. It had been lit with festivity five years ago, almost to the day. It now lay dark, and all the stars remained in the sky.

Her homeland was now a stranger to her, Byleth realized.

But then again, had she ever known Fódlan, despite having seen so much of it as a mercenary? Claude had called her an outsider, and she never knew any individual city well enough to call it her home. It seemed she didn't even know Garreg Mach, where she'd stayed the longest. At least, she didn't know the city compared to someone like Fidget, who knew the area well enough to notice differences in something as small as the number of visiting merchants.

Wait.  _ Merchants _ .

She remembered seeing the face of a tea merchant amidst the chaos of the battlefield donning the colors of the empire. Edelgard must have disguised her soldiers as  _ merchants _ to bring them within the city walls, and if only Byleth had taken more notice of Fidget's casual observation -

She huffed, frustrated. She felt so  _ small _ and  _ useless _ . Byleth was raised to excel in the art of combat, her mind sharpened for tactics and her body honed for battle. And yet, she hadn’t had the presence of mind to forestall this war, and nor was she present to fight for its end. Because she'd been  _ sleeping. _

"Life will move forward, with or without you. Keep up or get left behind," her father had once said. What would he say if he could see her now? If he knew how close she had followed him through the doors of death at the very outset of war?

She could almost see him in her mind's eye, a tall frame wrapped in orange pelts and the half-grin he saved for only her. "But you didn't follow me all the way through, did you, kid?" he'd probably say. "Time to turn around and catch up with the others. You're a fast learner. You'll do fine."

But there was so much she needed to learn before she could catch up. What had happened these past five years? Who was winning? Why was the war still being fought? Where were her students? Where was  _ Claude? _

She needed explanations. She needed  _ answers. _

Maybe, Byleth thought, someone like Fidget could help her out.

And maybe this time she'd actually  _ listen _ .

* * *

The entrance to her poker haunt was the same, but what it hid within was not.

Byleth had always been one of the younger faces in the crowd, but now she felt as though she were once more at the front of a classroom staring out at a sea of students with faces unwrinkled. And instead of gold, items were passing between hands: daggers, clothes, bags of rice. In fact, Byleth didn't see any cards being dealt. The gambling den had become… an underground trading post? A smuggling ring?

This was hardly the setting where one could pretend to be a luxury tea merchant.

Byleth wrapped her cloak a little tighter around her as she took a seat at what was once her usual poker table. She hadn't come prepared for this new underground, with a satchel of gold at her hip rather than a bag of living necessities in her hand. She didn't even know the going rate of rice (which, at three bags, seemed to be equivalent to one shirt) or if gold was even welcome here.

Heavens, what was she doing here? This underground wasn’t one she knew, with the majority of its clientele looking barely old enough to wield a sword.

"Can't be. Countess?"

Byleth spun around in her seat and came to greet someone who looked like Fidget but with deeper creases around the eyes and mouth and with greyer hair than she remembered. A few scars she didn't remember seeing ran along the length of his arms and a patch of his hair was shorter than the rest. But while not exact, this was the first familiar face she'd seen, and she almost smiled in relief.

"Fidget," Byleth acknowledged. "Glad to see you still around. I was worried the war might have done you over."

He laughed, and his crow's feet laughed with him. Byleth thought they might have given him a ruggedly handsome look he didn't have before. "I'd done think the same about you," he said, and then he squinted at her. "What did you go and do with your hair? Wasn't this color before, was it?"

_ Shit _ . Five years in the river had muddied her brain. She'd forgotten that she hadn't been back since her union with Sothis.

She should've come up with a cover story before she came down here. What was she thinking, rushing down like this without an explanation prepared to cover the past five years our why the sheen of her eyes had changed?

But then, just as Byleth opened her mouth to stumble over a response, a new voice - a voice that Byleth knew well, a voice that came from lips that could twist into a thousand different smiles - interrupted.

"All right, Fidget. Here’s your deck of cards, for old times’ sake,” said that voice, the voice that Byleth had been most hoping to hear, if she were honest with herself.

This time, she did smile as she looked up to catch the emerald green eyes of Claude von Riegan.


	10. T is for Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How do you think this war will end?" Byleth asked Fidget as Claude tossed a few coins in.
> 
> Fidget searched her face before he called Claude’s bid with a heavy sigh. “With all of us dead, if we’re lucky,” he said. “If only we’d be brave enough to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest thank you to StealthFlower for editing and cleaning up the chapter!!

Relief washed over Byleth, her stomach unclenching from a tension she hadn't fully realized she'd been carrying. The idea of losing Claude after both her father and Sothis so recently - relatively speaking - had been staining the corner of her heart since she'd woken up. It was a fear she had been refusing to acknowledge, as if thinking it might have bourn it into reality. And now, seeing him before her made the idea of waking up in a foreign future feel a little less daunting.

He looked older, his jaw more square with a thin beard that ran along its edge, and it looked like he'd tried to slick back his hair in an effort to control his unruly curls, though one defiant strand fell in front of his face. His lips were slightly parted, and his eyes were -

Briefly, Byleth thought she caught a flash of pain.

"By - " he started, almost like a whisper. But then he recalled himself and cleared his throat. His eyes were dutifully blank again, and his posture was all swagger. "By the goddess, I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Byleth had always been short of words, but now there seemed to be too many running through her head simultaneously, preventing her from articulating any single thought clearly. She was overwhelmed with words like  _ I'm sorry, I'm here, forgive me, I've been asleep for five years _ \- none of which captured how she truly felt.

She'd once traveled with her father's mercenary company along a coast that had recently been swept through by a tsunami. That still image of a splintered wreck of a beachfront dock with gentle lapping waves that had forgotten its former monstrous form, Byleth thought, was the closest picture of her current emotions.

"I came back as quickly as I could," Byleth said, gaze fixed on Claude and willing him to hear her unspoken apology. She knew his blank façade was warranted in present company, but still she yearned to see it colored with something,  _ anything. _

"To where?" Fidget said, eyebrows lifted. "To  _ this  _ hellhole?"

"Everywhere's a hellhole," Byleth said, sparing Fidget a quick glance before looking back to Claude. "Better be in a hellhole with the people I care for."

Claude’s mask was unrelenting. A few short words weren’t enough to make up for an absence of five years, she knew. But what could she say in front of Fidget? What could  _ he _ say in front of Fidget?

Wordlessly, Byleth reached out and touched the hem of his sleeve, running her thumb along its edge. His clothes today looked well-made but simple, the cuffs lined with dirt instead of embroidery. He’d adjusted his wardrobe for the times, and Byleth wondered how much time had changed him in kind.

She followed the length of his sleeve down until her hands wrapped around his, squeezing it gently before letting go. And slowly, something melted, and his lips tilted into a slight teasing smile that Byleth thought might make her heart beat. It was perhaps a little more solemn than she was used to, but that was what made it so particularly charming - that despite his hesitation, he was  _ choosing _ to trust her.

"Took your time coming back this time though, didn't you?" he said ruefully as he sat down beside her. He leaned sideways onto the table, propping himself up by his elbow. "Fidget, Countess didn't regale you yet with the stories of her travels, has she?"

His eyes were still fixed on her. Studying her.

"Travels?" Fidget said, his voice hoarse - like he’d been coughing for a while.  _ Had _ he been coughing? Byleth had hardly noticed. "That's when you changed your hair color?"

It was clever how Claude side stepped the risk of spinning a contradicting backstory by asking Fidget what he already knew, Byleth thought. At least now she knew that time hadn't dulled his wit. "Not much of a story. I left shortly after the war began."

"And about a year back, she came back during a visit looking like this," Claude said, a hand absent-mindedly catching a lock of her hair. He ran the strands lightly back and forth between his fingers, and her scalp tingled. "Suppose it's a fashionable color out there somewhere."

Fidget frowned. "But an unusual shade here, to be sure," he said, almost deliberately lightly. And there was something sharp hidden in that tone that abruptly stole Byleth's attention from Claude; and she knew Claude noticed it too when his fingers stilled and her hair slipped out of its grasp.

It felt like a pointed statement. Was Fidget trying to hint at something? Did he know more than he was letting on?

"I suppose I should color it back now that I'm here for good," Byleth said slowly.

Fidget nodded along in faked leisure. "Your eye color's changed too, hasn't it?" he said.

Of course a poker player who studied her for tells many times in the past would notice a change in eye color, even if the comparison came years later.

"A lot has changed since we last met," Byleth allowed. "For you and I both, it seems."

Fidget blew air out loudly and slowly. "Fair enough," he said, letting the subject drop. "You're sure now's the right time to come back? What's happening out here ain't pretty."

"I don't think I should have left in the first place," Byleth said, and her eyes darted quickly at Claude. It didn't escape Fidget's notice as he chuckled.

"Who would've thought I'd run into the two of you here tonight for the first time in years like this," he said with more amusement than the situation warranted. He nodded at the deck of cards Claude had thrown onto the table - a deck of cards that looked suspiciously like the one she had owned, Byleth realized. "Now, are you going to deal me a hand or are you just here to tease me?"

* * *

"So, what are these stories of your travels?" Fidget said, peeking at his cards. An inopportune time for his arm to twitch, and Byleth saw a flash of a black hand.

She burned a few cards and dealt three face up. Two clubs and the Ace of hearts, and Fidget bid the minimum. She should fold, but today, she wasn’t here to play for some extra spending money. She didn’t have any tea times on her calendar.

“ _ This _ one made it sound much more interesting than it really was,” Byleth said as she called, tilting her head towards Claude. “I was just looking for work.”

“Well then, you should’ve stayed,” Fidget said, gesturing to the room at large. “See? Economy’s booming. War’s great for business.”

Byleth took in the underground, her face impassive. It was busier than she remembered it ever being before, to Fidget’s credit - but its patrons were distinctly less diverse. A booming economy shouldn’t have meant coarse, shapeless tunics as the height of fashion and eight fistfuls of grain as a prostitute’s going rate, Byleth thought as she watched a woman lead a grinning boy back up the stairs.

“Business for who?” Claude retorted as he flicked in the coins for his call. “Unless you’re saying there’s some secret group of rich tea aficionados that can save me from selling the last of my teas at a loss.”

Meanwhile, Byleth wondered what kind of backstory could she conjure up on the spot that would fit in with this new, unfamiliar Fodlan? Her previous strategy of saying as little as possible in order to incite as little curiosity as possible wouldn’t work now, especially as one generally had to give information in order to surreptitiously steal information. She needed to choose a profession that required travel, but she couldn’t be a merchant, since Claude was already one. And the profession needed to be one that she knew enough about, so she could comfortably adlib an explanation for the past many years - 

Oh.

Didn’t Sothis tell her from the very start to pretend to be a mercenary? Byleth imagined how the goddess would respond to Byleth following her suggestion five years after it was given. She’d say something with carefully articulated disdain, probably, like - “Perhaps next time you fancy yourself wiser than I, you will do better in remembering that I am the  _ Beginning _ , and you are a mere child.”

“My employer once taught me that a merc who cares for gold loves war,” Byleth said evenly, quoting her father. “A merc who cares to live long enough to spend that gold, doesn’t.”

Fidget laughed. “Wise man,” he said. “What’s your old employer up to now?”

Byleth looked up from the cards to meet Fidget’s eyes. “He’s dead.” She refocused on the game. The wound still hurt, and she didn't want Fidget to read her pain. “In this line of work, sometimes war finds you whether or not you want it to.”

“Not just your line of work. War finds all of us, even though none of us want it,” Fidget grumbled. “But suppose the nobility know better than us, and what they think’s worth dying for, we’ll go ahead and die for.”

That tasted of a bitterness that Byleth didn't know Fidget had. Spades, sure - the dark haired woman had always been comfortable discussing controversial views. But not  _ Fidget _ , who was more likely to keep making jokes past their due date and laugh louder than anyone else at the table.

"'Course, nothing against you, Earl Grey," Fidget said.

"Not much of an Earl anymore," Claude said. And he wasn't, Byleth realized - he was a duke now, not just the duke's grandson. "My tea empire has all but collapsed."

"How are Boots and Spades doing?" Byleth asked, flipping over the next card. Diamond four. Claude waved his bid.

"Boots, wow," Fidget said. "Haven't thought of him in a long time. Haven't seen him, either. Spades is still around, though. She's a smart gal." The rest was unsaid:  _ she knows how to survive _ . What did Fidget have to do to survive?

Fidget checked. So did Byleth. The next card was an eight of clubs.

"How do you think this war will end?" Byleth asked Fidget as Claude tossed a few coins in.

Fidget searched her face before he called Claude’s bid with a heavy sigh. “With all of us dead, if we’re lucky,” he said. “If only we’d be brave enough to die.”

“That’s bleak,” Claude said, frowning.

“Yes, well,” Fidget said, folding his hands in front of his face, partially obscuring his mouth. “The era for sharp blades and whetstones to win wars has passed.”

He said no more, and neither did Byleth. It was a warning.  _ Stay away _ , he was saying.  _ Get out while you can _ . There were hidden forces at play, more powerful than they could know.

“Even the wielder of the Sword of the Creator has once been defeated by steel and silver, ” Claude said, and Byleth wasn’t sure if he were referring to Nemesis or herself, struck in battle and sent down to the river’s bottom. But his overall message was not lost on Fidget - that those with the most powerful weapons have lost before - and yet, Fidget only smiled grimly, like a tired parent entertaining a child’s faith in fairy tales.

The smile of someone who not only forgot how to hope, but no longer believed in it at all.

Byleth pushed her cards into the middle, folding. Claude flipped his cards over - two pair, ace high.

And then Fidget pushed his cards in, too, so his hand of black must not have been both clubs after all. Or maybe it had been so long since he’d felt success that he’d forgotten how to win that he chose to lose instead.

Or maybe, like her, he was playing for something other than money.

* * *

The walk back to the monastery was quiet. Byleth kept waiting for Claude to break the unfamiliar silence, but he didn’t; and so they walked side by side, following the path they’d taken so many times before that now felt foreign.

It wasn’t until they reached the door to her room that Claude stopped and looked at her with such a force of startling sincerity that made Byleth wonder if she were still sleeping and lost to dreams. “I always knew you'd come back,” he said quietly.

“I promised you that I wouldn’t disappear on you,” she said.

His laughter was empty, and so was the feeling in her chest. “You know, for us mortals without any sort of goddess infusion, being gone for half a decade kind of counts as disappearing,” he said. "It looks like you were the one who overslept this time, Teach."

“I’m sorry,” she said. She knew he was joking to try to lighten the mood with a reference to the very conversation where she'd made that promise, but... “I actually really was sleeping.”

"Nice try," Claude said, grinning from the left side of his mouth. "Your lying face has gotten better. You could almost have gotten me saying 'truth.'"

"I'm not lying," Byleth insisted. How could she make him believe that she'd slept for five years when she hardly believed it herself? "I woke up this morning downstream of Garreg Mach to find that it was the eve of the millennium festival."

“I… wow. You’re really committing to this,” Claude said, scratching the back of his head.

“What else would’ve kept me from you - and all the Golden Deer - through this war?” Byleth asked of him.

Claude stiffened imperceptibly, and suddenly Byleth realized that a lot could have kept her from her students in the intervening years. And despite Claude’s earlier statement saying that he knew she’d come back, his conviction had clearly wavered at times and allowed doubt to bloom. She could’ve been dead, she could’ve abandoned him, but what he said was -

“Maybe you were wherever Rhea was,” Claude said lightly, but Byleth knew that the reason he gave wasn’t the voice of doubt that had screamed the loudest. “Off on a retreat giving each other tips on what colors go best with green hair.”

That gave Byleth pause. She hadn’t even thought about her new hair color clashing with her usual outfits. She looked down at herself, tugging at the pink lining on the sleeve of her cloak. “Does it look that bad?” she said hesitantly.

She knew it really shouldn’t matter how she looked, as long as she was comfortable fighting in whatever she was wearing. And it certainly didn't matter when she should be worrying about how Claude might not have always believed she'd return to find him.

But now that the subject was brought up, Byleth couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious about her attire.  _ Especially  _ when she was directly facing Claude, who’d pulled off the bold yellow colors of the Golden Deer house impossibly well as a student and now, half a decade later, had matured into someone far more striking - if she allowed herself an honest moment to assess his looks.

It wasn’t just how he’d filled into features that composed a handsome face, or that the years of war had clearly toned the lean muscles of a battle archer. Even though he was wearing a simple garb to fit an underground alias, he held himself with an air of dignity and authority that seemed to elevate the whole outfit.

Byleth thought it had never been more obvious, looking between her laced tights and his sharp boots, that he was the leader of the Alliance and she was just a mercenary.

She looked up to find Claude’s gaze dropping from her armored shirt to the shorts she always paired with her tights, lingering for a moment before he looked away, a slight rose hue to his cheeks. “They’re - fine,” he said, clearing his throat before looking back to Byleth. “Hilda would be a better person to ask. I don’t know the first thing about matching colors, which - I presume - is why you failed to invite me to that retreat with Rhea.”

“You always look so put together for someone who doesn’t know how to match colors,” Byleth observed. Possibly Claude was one of those rare people who could just about pull off any outfit.

He chuckled. “Having your whole wardrobe fixed to represent your house means never having to match colors together,” Claude said with a wink. “You know, I’d think you do well in House Riegan colors if you’d like to give that lifestyle a try.”

His comment made Byleth feel warm, though she didn’t know why. He’d made similar casual remarks in the past, after all. Perhaps it was just nice to know that after all this time, he still wanted her by his side.

“I think I still ought to dye my hair,” Byleth said. Her current hair color was far too conspicuous. “Fidget…”

She didn’t need to say more. Claude understood, his lips thinning into a grim line.

“The war hasn’t been kind to him. Hasn’t been kind to any of us, but it’s hard to hear words of such defeat from the civilian folk,” Claude said, sighing. “Since you say you were sleeping - you probably need me to catch you up on what’s happened, don’t you?” He took a step back and looked out to the east, scrying for a sun that wouldn’t come up for another few hours. “But I believe that a new dawn will brighten Fodlan soon, now that you’re here, my friend.”

_ My friend _ , Byleth repeated in her mind, and she smiled.

* * *

Claude had taken his penalty whiskey shot for not believing that Byleth had slept for the past five years, and Byleth had taken several penalty shots afterwards when Claude told her that Dimitri, last he heard, had lost his mind and then got himself captured and killed by Edelgard’s army, and Byleth hadn’t had the will to believe it.

They’d retired to their old rooms, but not before they’d talked about nothing and everything all at once. Byleth had whispered Dimitri’s name a few times - “It was only yesterday for me when I last saw him. I could tell he was distressed that last month, but I never would’ve guessed this would  _ happen _ ” - and Claude had comforted her; and Claude, in turn, had shared a few of his own insecurities - “Do you think the rest of the class will remember our vow to return here in five years’ time?” - and Byleth had tried her hand at consolation as well.

And now it was morning, and there was a knock on her door.

“All right in there, Teach?” Claude’s voice came from the other side. “Don’t want you sleeping in again.”

Byleth groaned and kicked her sheets off, pulling on a robe as she stumbled over to the door. She opened it slightly, wincing as the sunlight came streaming in and hit her square in the face. Once her eyesight had returned to her, she glared at Claude. Was a wake-up call this early truly necessary when they’d stayed up so late the night before?

“I was hoping to sleep long enough for me to wake up to find that you’d already won the war,” Byleth said dryly.

Claude grinned. “I could never let you sleep through  _ all  _ the fun. If you’re worried your skills might be rusty, I figure we can test your skills a bit. Hunt some bandits around the area before they set out for the day,” he said. “Oh, and I brought breakfast.” He held up a cloth bag presumably full of food as he shifted from foot to foot.

Byleth held back a sigh. He was probably just anxious about whether anyone else would join them for the reunion and needed an outlet, but his ample energy didn’t really make up for her exhaustion. “When did the roles reverse?” Byleth said. She used to be the one up early, sometimes even catching him sleeping in the library from the night before. “I never made you get up this early for training, did I?”

Byleth relinquished her hold on the door and let him in, gathering her robe tighter around her.

“Tired, are you?” Claude observed. “Some tea will help wake you up, I’m sure.” He started rummaging around her shelves, looking for the jar of teas that she used to keep, and a knot of dread clenched in Byleth’s stomach.

_ Tea. _

_ Oh, no. _

She had thought that maybe she could put that part of her life behind her - that maybe, in the five years of war, her students might have moved past their tea drinking ways. And now, she couldn’t think of a way to tell Claude now that she preferred to avoid the beverage entirely when she’d built half of their relationship on tea times.

“A fight will wake me up just as well,” Byleth said instead. “Just give me a few moments to get dressed.”

His eyes dropped briefly to her nightgown. “Right,” he said.

When he didn’t move, Byleth continued, “Suppose you wait outside.” She was no stranger to stripping down in front of others, thanks to a life on the road, but she felt like she could use a bit of privacy after yesterday’s reflection on just how better dressed Claude was than she.

He laughed then. “Are you sure you don’t want my company, my friend?” he asked, but he was already heading out the door and closing it behind him.

* * *

Either Byleth really was rather rusty, or bandits had upped their game and exchanged fighting notes in the past half decade. Claude was firing arrows from behind her atop his wyvern - which, by the way, he’d failed to mention yesterday. When did he get a  _ wyvern _ ? - and Byleth was holding off four or five bandits at a time. Her crest would flare to life with the odd swing and the health it provided was the only reason that Byleth’s endurance hadn’t immediately crumpled.

“Where did you find these bandits?” Byleth shouted at Claude, wincing as she ducked an arrow shot a little too high and swiped at the knees of the swordsman in front of her.

Claude shot a return arrow at a flier coming at Byleth from over the walls of the ruins. Byleth didn’t have time to follow its trajectory, but the strangled cry told her that it had been a critical hit. “I wanted tea and breakfast first,” Claude reminded her. “ _ You _ were the one that rushed into this.”

“I had to. You insulted my swordsmanship,” Byleth grunted, parrying a blow while a hurtling handaxe clipped her side. “Archer on the right.”

It only took a few seconds for Claude to fly over to deal with the archer hiding behind some rubble that Byleth couldn’t cross; and then he was back by her side, stringing another arrow. “I did not.”

“You said they were rusty.” One well placed hit and the swordsman was down, and the axe-wielder rushed forward to take their place. Would this assault never end?

“I said they  _ might  _ be - ” Claude started before breaking off into a hiss of pain, pulling his wyvern back briefly.

Byleth glanced over at Claude, quickly assessing his injuries before lunging in another attack. His condition wasn’t so critical that she needed to heal him immediately, not when another bandit was pressing in on her -

“The barbarity is even worse than the rumors!” A familiar voice suddenly exclaimed over the commotion. “On my honor as a noble, I will expel these ruffians!”

Byleth and Claude exchanged a quick glance. Byleth personally never thought she’d be so pleased to hear of Lorenz’s noble obligations, and she found a smile forming on her lips.

And before either of them had a chance to respond, other voices started pitching in from various corners of the ruins - 

“The monastery is in such disrepair…”

“Wait, is that the Professor and the others?”

“Professor! You’re alive!”

Byleth hadn’t the time to look around, but the simultaneous relief and joy that she felt was mirrored in Claude’s genuine laughter erupting from behind her. Her students had come back.

“You finally made it!” Claude said. “I suppose virtue exists in this crazy world after all.”

But the battlefield spared no moment for sentiments - not when they were vastly outnumbered. If Byleth wanted to enjoy a homecoming, she’d have to make sure they all  _ survived _ the skirmish first.

From what she could tell, Leonie and Hilda had come up from the south, while it seemed like Ignatz and Lorenz came from the north. “Go meet Lorenz in the north,” Byleth instructed, but not before casting a healing spell on Claude anyways. “Use your axe.” Lorenz and Ignatz both dealt damage from ranged attacks and needed someone to hold the frontlines. “I’ll fight towards Hilda and Leonie.”

His gaze lingered on her, and it almost tore a hole in the cheer of being reunited with her other students. It was a look of one loathe to lose sight of her in battle again. But then he nodded once and flew off, and Byleth gritted her teeth as she turned back to the bandit before her and knocked the lance out of their hands with the hilt of her sword.

She could hear Leonie and Hilda closing in from the opposite end, Leonie with her taunts - “You’re in the way of my promise to Captain Jeralt” - and Hilda’s commentary - “Umm, Leonie, maybe we  _ don’t _ provoke the people who are already fighting us?” Byleth still couldn’t see either of them, but she figured from the sounds of their voices that there couldn’t be more than, oh, four or five bandits between them.

Byleth refocused on her own fight and parried another blow, smacking another bandit with her elbow on the recoil. The thrust reverberated to her shoulder. It would hurt tomorrow, but now wasn’t the time to feel pain.

The bandit in the far back pivoted and charged down a different direction, presumably towards Leonie and Hilda - so they must have been encroaching at a decent pace. The disarmed bandit scrambled backwards, but two quick, successive slashes saw them down for the count before they could retreat. And the other bandit, the one Byleth had collided into with her elbow, withdrew a dagger from their cloak in a way that she thought someone might pull out a cigar for a smoke instead.

Byleth spun around and plunged her blade into their stomach before they had a chance to throw theirs at her. Her mark was true and the bandit staggered backwards, helmet clattering to the ground - and jet black hair spilled free.

The air left her lungs. Byleth stared into the bandit’s dark eyes and said, “Spades?”

Those dark eyes focused and then were unfocused again. “Countess?” she breathed.

Byleth pulled her sword out and Spades sunk to the floor, pressing a hand to her stomach.

It chilled Byleth to the bone.  _ Spades _ . Dying, at her hand. She never knew…

She never knew much about Spades, only that she liked her. But this -

“You’re a bandit,” Byleth stated.

\- this was not what was supposed to happen.

A wry smile flitted over Spades' lips. “Now, yes,” she admitted, her words short of breath. She pulled her hand away and it ran thick with blood.

_ She’s a smart gal _ , Fidget had said. Heavens… If turning to banditry was what Fidget considered smart, then what did everyone else have to resort to in order to survive?

“I’m sorry,” Byleth said, though the words were weak. They both knew that Spades wasn’t the first bandit Byleth had killed without asking why they turned to a thieving lifestyle, and she wouldn’t be the last. It was a dangerous game to ask about someone’s backstory when their blade was clashing with hers. “You don’t deserve this.” Those words were even weaker.

Spades exhaled a burst of air that might have been a laugh under different circumstances. “Then to the ones that do..." Her last words came out brokenly: "Give them hell."

But Byleth barely heard them. There was another bandit to her right closing in, and the battlefield spared no moment for sentiments.

And her students were on the other side.

* * *

Death always tasted bitter. “When it’s too easy,” her father had once taught her, “it’s time to retire.” Today’s battle tasted more bitter than usual.

But nothing could sweeten a flavor like one of Marianne’s rare smiles or Ignatz's stammer - the way he tripped up over his words when he was too excited to articulate coherently - and Byleth thought, it was worth it.  _ They _ were worth the bitterness.

"Professor…" Marianne started, beaming in a way that the Marianne of six years ago would never have known she was capable of. "Thank the Goddess you're back!"

"Hmph," Felix said. "Took you long enough." But a slight grin of his own took the edge off his words. "I've been missing my best sparring partner."

Lysithea readily agreed. "Now that you're back, Professor, let's get some work  _ done _ ."

"Never disappear like that again, okay?" Leonie warned. "How am I going to keep my promise to Captain Jeralt if you're gone?"

"It doesn't matter," Raphael boomed. "The professor's back now, so let's  _ celebrate! _ How about some food to get the party going?"

And so her students surrounded her, wrapping her with warmth and noise and  _ love _ , and it truly felt like it was the first time she was seeing them in five years - even if, relative to her own experiences, she'd seen them only a few days prior.

But then, she wondered as she turned back to look at Claude who sat a few feet away watching the whole ordeal…

Why did his smile seem a little sad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> And... did you all hear about the sewer people getting released in the DLC?!?! The underground is officially canon!
> 
> Just kidding. I'm just afraid I'll want to rework too much stuff to incorporate DLC elements once they're released. ...Guess I'm picking up the switch again.


	11. T is for Transitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They say that I don’t care enough,” she said. Not that those remarks she had overheard had ever particularly affected her, because - well - she didn’t care what they thought.
> 
> “That’s not true,” Claude said. “You care about the things that matter most, and it’s only all that other noise that you don’t let phase you.”
> 
> Byleth nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I do care about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the biggest of thank yous to StealthFlower for combing through this chapter and cleaning it up!
> 
> Happy Valentines Day - here's some romantic drama to celebrate, or something like that.

"Are you sure about this, Professor?" Ignatz said yet again as he mixed together the pastes he'd grounded from flower petals and seeds. "Your hair color now is such a beautifully rare shade - "

"And far too conspicuous," Byleth finished.

"Its affiliation with Lady Rhea's hair might give the common people hope in times like these," Ignatz said doubtfully. "Especially the faithful who have been hurt most by Edelgard's war on the church." He paused. "Not to say that I won't do it if you really want me to, of course," he added hastily.

His point had merit. She hadn't considered things from a religious perspective before. "I suppose there are times when being a figurehead is as important as being undercover," Byleth allowed. And if the enemy saw her hair as green on the battlefield, perhaps they'd be less likely to notice her with blue hair in the underground. "How permanent is this coloring?"

"I'm not sure. I've never colored hair before," Ignatz said. "Should we test it on the ends first?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I can also mix several different dyes and see what works best.”

It was a logical idea, and she agreed to it. He worked his way from left to right, each dye a little more pigmented than the last, and he had only just finished adding a final streak of blue when Lysithea walked in, carefully balancing a tower of books almost as tall as she was.

“Hello, Lysithea - “

And that was all Ignatz was able to get out before all of the mage’s books came tumbling down as she rushed over to Byleth.

“What are you doing? You said you didn’t feel any different after your hair changed color the first time!” Lysithea accused, with an anger that Byleth didn’t understand.

“I…”

“Dyeing your hair like this won’t revert everything back to the way it was, you know,” she said crossly, leaning in a little too close and peering into Byleth’s still green eyes. “Did you lose those five years as a consequence of gaining whatever powers came with your hair change? I  _ told  _ you not to push yourself too hard - “

Byleth had no words. Where was this coming from?

“Lysithea, the Professor knows that this is purely cosmetic,” Ignatz said patiently, cutting her off before she could work herself into a more dramatic fury. “We’re all worried about her, but I’m sure that if anything feels off, the Professor would go straight to Marianne. Right?”

He turned to look at Byleth expectantly, but Byleth just stared back.  _ Worried?  _ About  _ her? _

_ She _ was the one who was constantly worrying about her students. She knew she had said that she would trust them more, but that didn’t stifle the concern she had every time she marched them onto the battlefield and issued orders to attack. Sothis has gifted her the power of divine pulse for a reason. And they were fretting over  _ her _ ?

When she awoke from her slumber, Byleth had worried about how they had been doing during all that time. She didn’t think that they would have been worrying for her as well.

Ignatz’s expression started fold into doubt. “Professor?” he pressed.

She looked from Ignatz to Lysithea and observed the increasing anxiety that lined their faces because of her silence. They really  _ were _ fretting over her.

“I’m fine, Lysithea,” Byleth assured her. “Though I appreciate your concern. As Ignatz said, I’m doing this for purely political reasons.” Which was a statement that could shock her father out of his early grave, and a statement that would alarm rather than assuage anyone who knew her from her merc days.

Her father had always been the one to handle anything involving people… though he  _ did  _ once ask her if she had wanted to come along as he handled contract negotiations with potential employers. But then she had leveled him with such a stare that he had laughed, saying, “Suppose I should’ve known better.” And he had never asked again.

It was a testament to how much she had changed - how much her students had changed her - that the idea of Byleth doing anything political seemed perfectly reasonable.

She just wasn’t yet sure how much  _ she _ liked the change herself. The games of words, of rousing battle speeches and sleuthing intel and courtly posturing for additional troops… If she were honest, she still found herself rather hating it all.

“If you’re sure,” Lysithea allowed slowly, and then she straightened up again. “You  _ will _ be careful though, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Byleth said. “I want to be here for you all.”

“Not always in your power though, is it?” Lysithea said, though her tone was a little less abrasive than usual. Instead, she sounded almost -  _ old _ . How odd it was that when Lysithea wasn’t trying to forcibly prove herself, she did rather seem like an old soul.

And Byleth didn’t have anything to say to that, because she was right.

Ignatz tentatively broke the silence that fell. “I could color your hair too if you’d like - “

“No, thank you,” Lysithea said primly, gathering herself. “I prefer to keep my hair as a reminder.”

She collected her books and walked off, leaving Byleth to wonder exactly what her white hair was a reminder of.

* * *

And so Byleth's mission to look less conspicuous ended with her walking around with green hair and blue highlights. Hilda, who’d presumably been wandering the monastery looking for nothing to do, caught sight of her and promptly burst into giggles.

Byleth had to remind herself that she hadn’t colored her hair for vanity reasons - and then she was promptly annoyed at herself for needing the reminder in the first place. 

“Well, it’s certainly a  _ look _ , Professor,” she said after her laughter subsided, admiring Ignatz’s handiwork up close. “And you pull it off. But I thought that you wanted to  _ avoid _ sticking out.”

“It’s only temporary,” Byleth said.

“You say that, but I bet that you’ll start a trend with highlighted hair,” Hilda said, twirling a pink strand of her own around a finger. “You know, with how much everyone looks up to you and all.”

It was almost instinctive at this point for Byleth to anticipate Hilda making some request or other after the compliment, but none came. Instead, she continued, “Anyways, Claude was looking for you.”

That caught Byleth’s attention. She thought that Claude had been rather…  _ standoffish _ recently, and it was probably nothing - after all, he had so recently called her  _ friend _ . But still, she couldn’t help but wonder if there were something going on, and it consumed more of her thoughts than she would like to admit.

It was just that sometimes she would catch a glance from him that reminded her more of the Claude she’d first met rather than the Claude she had gotten to know. Those glances chilled her.

“Thank you,” Byleth said, feeling slightly guilty that she had expected the worst from Hilda. “Where is he?”

Hilda’s eyes widened. “Well,  _ probably _ on his way to the classroom right now.”

The classroom. Byleth hadn’t expected that her students would want to continue their structured Academy training, but Leonie, Felix, and Lysithea had joined forces and all but bullied her into drafting lecture notes again. She had almost forgotten it was about time to get started. “I saw the way you swung your axe during the battle against the bandits,” Byleth said, shaking her head. “Really, I should be learning from  _ you _ .”

And that was an idea that Byleth didn’t have until she had started voicing it. Why shouldn’t she take lessons from her students? Their command over their weapons had been honed by the war, and she could stand to learn a few tips on how to handle a battle axe from Hilda.

“What?” Hilda’s eyes widened even more to an almost comical extent. “You, learn from  _ me? _ ”

Byleth nodded. “I think it would be beneficial if you actually gave a lecture one of these days in my stead,” she suggested.

The more she thought about it, the more she liked the plan. Her students had grown in their own separate paths, she realized, and they - herself included - could all learn collectively from each other’s individual experiences.

They were hardly her students anymore, she realized, and they were hardly the children that Sothis knew. They were soldiers in their own right with their own worries, warriors she could learn from.

It was a disorienting discovery. Byleth felt as though she’d lost a bit of her purpose, and while logically she knew that she’d gained something arguably better, she couldn’t help but mourn the loss of the students she once had.

Hilda, however, disagreed with everything. “Oh no Professor, you wouldn’t want  _ me  _ teaching everyone,” she said, backing away slightly in a brilliant impression of cornered prey. 

Okay, maybe they hadn’t changed  _ that _ much.

She smiled, and Hilda looked even more alarmed at what she’d done to warrant it. “We’ll see,” Byleth said before turning on her heel to make it to the lecture she’d almost forgotten.

“Wait,” Hilda called out, scrambling after her. “What does  _ that _ mean?”

There was nothing to mourn, Byleth decided. At least, not when it came to her Golden Deer.

* * *

“Spades is dead,” Byleth said the moment the door closed behind Claude.

She had just wrapped up her lecture and suggested that they discuss some things in her room. That she didn’t choose the war room as the setting for their talks had raised a few eyebrows, but she didn’t particularly feel inclined to share the news about an old poker buddy’s passing where others might overhear.

And she had been - not  _ quite _ desperate, but…  _ eager _ , maybe, to speak to him in private and voice her worries that he might have been acting a little more reserved recently - to address those moments when she’d catch him watching her, and she could swear she could hear his thoughts swarming even as his lips stayed sealed.

“What - ok, wow,” Claude said, running a hand through his hair. “You sure know how to start a conversation.” He nodded slowly, letting what she’d said roll around in his head. “How did you find out?”

“Because I killed her,” Byleth admitted.

Claude stared.

It was one of those moments where Byleth knew she’d said the wrong thing as she was saying it, but the words, once said, couldn’t be taken back. She sighed, annoyed with herself.  _ This _ was why her father always handled the people part of the mercenary job.

Even if she’d had more practice playing the games of words lately, she evidently still wasn’t very good at it.

“So…” Claude started, dragging the word out as he tried to make sense of what she was telling him. “You found out she’d been cheating at cards and came to collect?” he said dryly.

“No. She was working with the bandits we routed,” Byleth said slowly, trying to articulate what had happened. “I didn’t know until it was too late.”

_ But it wasn’t too late _ , whispered a voice in the back of her mind.  _ You could’ve turned back the hands of time. You just didn’t think she was worth it. _

Byleth pushed that voice down. The power she had wasn’t endless, and she would break herself apart if she tried to save everyone. Maybe she could have saved Spades, but maybe it was better not to start making exceptions to save those she clashed blades with.

It wasn’t the way of the mercenary to doubt their kills, and she needed to remember that - even if she wasn’t technically a merc anymore.

“I had no idea she was a bandit,” Claude said, frowning.

“I don’t think she used to be,” Byleth said. “At least, not until the wartime economy pushed her towards the path.”

Claude’s eyes were hard - almost as if he were seeing something that wasn’t there. “And now she’s dead.”

“Yes,” Byleth said, though it didn’t feel like enough.

He was still for a moment before he started to nod slowly, leaning back into his chair. But his shoulders were still tense, and she knew him enough that it meant he was distressed - and… angry?

From the way Claude wasn’t making eye contact, Byleth thought he might be angry  _ at her. _

And that twist in her stomach that she’d experienced when she found out that she’d killed Spades - she was feeling it all over again, but it was somehow worse, because now Claude was also judging her for it, and  _ she could have gone back in time to save Spades _ -

“What’s… what are you thinking?” Byleth said, tentatively breaking the silence.

“Nothing,” Claude said with an easy shake of his head, but his jaw was tight.  _ Lie _ , Byleth thought to herself, but the atmosphere left no room for stray commentary.

The silence was loud. She’d often employed silence as a mechanism for getting others to talk, though she never had to use it on Claude, who had a tendency to fill any silence that might have been afforded him. But now it wasn’t working, and the air felt as if it were churning and stifling all at once.

Maybe he just needed space. Maybe, maybe she just needed to…  _ back off _ . And it hurt, because she wanted to  _ fix _ whatever this thing was between them now, and she couldn’t do it without knowing what exactly consumed him.

But she had once been the one to withdraw from  _ him _ , when he pointed out a tell she didn’t know she had. It seemed to be the right thing to do, to afford him the same courtesy of space.

She breathed in deeply. “If you need the space to talk, I’m here to listen. Whenever you feel ready,” she tried.

He laughed and it sounded flat. “Ever the teacher, aren’t you, my friend?” he said wryly.

_ Ever the teacher _ . But she wasn’t. It seemed ironic that just when she became comfortable with being a professor, all of her students had grown up on her.

“I don’t understand,” Byleth said.

“Nevermind,” Claude said, huffing a sigh of frustration that seemed to stem from somewhere deep inside. “We need to end this war quickly. It’s hurting the people that Edelgard says she’s trying to liberate. I understand what she’s trying to do, but her methods are wrong.”

Byleth, too, released a small sigh that she hadn’t realized she had been holding. So there  _ was _ something troubling Claude, and they  _ weren’t _ going to talk about it now.

Disappointment didn’t seem the apt word to cover how she felt.

_ Please, tell me what’s wrong _ , she wanted to say. “We need reinforcements,” she said instead.

“That’s what I had been hoping to talk to you about,” Claude acknowledged. “I received a response from House Daphnel. They’re willing to lend us aid if we march to receive them in Ailell.”

At least there was something good to come out of this conversation, Byleth thought. “We should discuss this with Seteth,” she said, rising.

Claude agreed and, as they moved to leave, he mused, “Maybe we shouldn’t use bandits anymore for target practice. If they’re just victims of their situation, like Spades…”

“Cleaning out bandits is our primary source of funds right now,” Byleth reminded him. But then she paused, turning to look at the jar of teas that she’d purchased for her students years ago. “Unless you want to use my tea store and practice being an actual tea merchant.”

He chuckled as he walked through the door. “Not a chance,” he said, and his carefree face was back on. “I know better than to steal tea from you.”

And Byleth knew better than to get her hopes up that she could pawn off her teas like that, but….

_ Damn. _

* * *

Hilda did  _ not _ want to march to Ailell, and she was very comfortable making her opinion well known as they stood around the war room, plotting a route on an updated map of Fódlan - one that thankfully did  _ not _ have the words  _ Ass-drestia _ and  _ Fart-ghus _ scrawled over it, Byleth noticed.

“I hear that monks train there,” Marianne said tentatively after one of Hilda’s long winded complaints. “It might not be as bad as they say.”

“But it’ll make me  _ sweat _ ,” Hilda insisted, though with a little less whine than before. Byleth had noticed that Hilda tended to be a little more responsible when Marianne was around - perhaps because who among them wasn’t protective of the blue haired bishop? Despite this, even Marianne wasn’t able to silence Hilda’s many concerns. “It’s called the Valley of  _ Torment _ for a reason.”

“What if you thought of it more like the Valley of Pomegranates?” Ignatz suggested. 

That gave her pause.  _ What? _

His statement earned a confused silence and a number of blank stares besides her own. Lorenz cleared his throat and ventured, “You seem to be making connections that I do not see. Would you be so generous as to explain your meaning?”

Ignatz turned slightly pink and stuttered a defense. “W - well, I just mean, isn’t Ailell also famous for their Ailell Pomegranates? It can’t be the barren wasteland that the books write about if pomegranates grow there.”

“You are right about that,” Seteth said, frowning. He tapped his chin in thought. “Though neither is Hilda wrong about the blistering heat. It would be prudent to prepare appropriately for the terrain, lest the weather consume too much of our stamina.” He scanned the group, eyes flitting from their cloaks and their capes to their metal armor. “Have any of you have brought lighter wear that shields from the sun?”

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Hilda groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “I  _ knew _ I should have brought my new silk gown, but I just felt so  _ ridiculous _ packing it with all of my axes.”

“And I am no stranger to requesting more suitable attire from home,” Lorenz said, troubled, “but I worry about attracting my father’s notice if I were to ask for such clothing with Ailell at the Gloucester border.”

“My parents are merchants. I could acquire some fabric through them, but…” Ignatz squinted through the window at the squadron of knights training in the courtyard below. “It won’t be enough.”

Claude stood and began to pace around the table, absently running a hand along his beard as he stared hard at the map. “It’s not the best time for commerce, but dealing with the merchant class might be our best bet. The political powers of Fódlan are paying more attention to the movement across internal borders instead of external ones at the moment, and merchants have the easiest time crossing all of them.”

Raphael scratched his head. “Do they?” he wondered aloud. “My lil sis wrote about how customs at the borders have gotten a lot stricter lately. Seems like it’s harder for merchants to cross now, too.” He shrugged his shoulders and laughed at himself. “Or something like that. I didn’t really understand all the details.”

“An easier time than nobles and soldiers, then,” Claude amended. “However much fabric your families can sell us, we’ll buy.” He looked up and caught her gaze, startling her slightly. He had avoided making eye contact with her for the past hour, and now that she was suddenly feeling the brunt of his attention, she thought her pulse might have quickened. “The rest, we’ll supplement through other sources.”

It was a private message to her, she knew. Byleth wondered if he were thinking of the trading post that the underground had become, or if he were thinking about importing fabric from whatever connections he might have had in Almyra.

Or maybe both.

“I don’t suppose you will choose to enlighten the rest of us gathered here with what these other sources are?” Lorenz asked in his disapproving drawl.

“Why, the secret sweatshop of workers underneath Derdriu that I’ve tasked to make all of my clothes, of course,” Claude said grandly, pausing just long enough for Lorenz to turn slightly purple with indignation and string together a sentence starting with the word  _ nobles _ . “I’m kidding. Through other merchants, Lorenz.”

“But above all else, we must be discreet,” Seteth said.

“Of course,” Claude said with a sly smile that served only to deepen Seteth’s frown. “Who do you take me for?”

“ _ Honestly _ ,” Hilda huffed, but it was hard to tell if she were agreeing with Claude or with Seteth. Apparently neither, because she followed up with, “Isn’t it time for lunch yet?”

“Hear, hear!” Raphael boomed, laughing freely. “Now  _ those _ words, I understand!”

And as they slowly filed out of the war room, Byleth tried to catch Claude’s gaze once more, but he had already slipped away.

* * *

The thing was, Byleth was proud of the soldiers she once called her students. She was proud of their fighting prowess. She was proud at how they could lead a tactical battle preparation discussion without asking her to double check every opinion and idea of theirs. She was even proud of their sustained antics, at how they managed to stay true to themselves despite the horrors of war that they were living through.

What had Manuela once said to her in the greenhouse? Something about looking after the students, about how a first kill can change a person. Byleth was proud of the way her Golden Deer balanced their morality and their duties in war.

So while she still felt a sense of loss - having lost those doe-eyed students to these hardened warriors, having lost a bit of her identity of being their professor - Byleth thought that ultimately, she was happy.

But days had gone by and Claude still hadn’t addressed what clouded the air between them, and in war, time was  _ precious. _ As two of the main tacticians of their troops, having an unhealthy dynamic could prove to have disastrous consequences.

And while yes, she wanted to do away with this elephant in the room as soon as possible, even if the best course of action might be to let Claude choose when to bring up whatever was plaguing him as he felt ready; there just wasn’t  _ time _ to let things organically settle themselves. And it wasn’t like she was rationalizing away her impatience or anything, of course. There just simply wasn’t any point in leaving room for error on the battlefield because of a silly reason like a lack of communication when they were about to mobilize into Ailell territories.

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Teach,” Claude said as he stood grinning in the doorway to her bedroom. “What will people say?”

She had asked him to meet her in her room again to discuss what he had meant by obtaining fabrics from other merchants. Which - to be fair - she  _ did _ want to discuss. She just also had other topics on her mind, too.

“I hadn’t cared when I invited you here to play cards,” Byleth said. “I’m not about to start now.”

Claude shook his head, stepping into the room. “I’ve always admired that about you,” he admitted. 

Heavens, if that  _ weren’t  _ possibly the most Claude thing he could’ve said. How the man before her could swing between different personas from one sentence the next - from his exaggerated teasing to being utterly sincere; from calling her  _ my friend _ to withdrawing from her entirely - Byleth had no idea. She could hardly keep up, and he was taking her emotions along for the ride.

If it were anyone else, she’d call them a manipulative asshole. As it was, she was instead concerned.

“Some people would disagree that it’s admirable,” Byleth replied. “They say that I don’t care enough.” Not that those remarks she had overheard had ever particularly affected her, because - well - she didn’t care what they thought.

“That’s not true,” Claude said. “You care about the things that matter most, and it’s only all that other noise that you don’t let phase you.”

Byleth nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I do care about you.”

Claude cleared his throat. “Ah - ehm, you sure know how to stun a guy speechless, don’t you?” he said, scratching the back of his neck, which seemed to have picked up a little bit of color.

“But you knew that,” Byleth said, frowning. “You know I care about you.” She’d said as much in different words, not that she particularly thought that the sentiment needed verbalizing. She figured she had been obvious enough about it through her actions.

“I - yeah,” he said. He breathed in deeply and when he raised his gaze to meet hers, she saw a fire in them that somehow set the pit of her stomach aflame. “You know I care about you, too.”

Her throat suddenly felt dry. “So,” she started, her voice cracking, “what’s wrong?”

He laughed then, and it sounded utterly unamused. “I told you, nothing’s wrong. I’m just - ” He broke off.

When it didn’t seem like he was going to continue, Byleth repeated softly, “You’re just - ”

His lips were pursed. “It’s just - it’s like - you just came back after five years like nothing’s changed, and everything’s as you left it.” And it seemed like once he started talking, the words wouldn’t stop. They were everywhere and aimless, and they were a far cry from his usual eloquence. “A  _ war _ happened -  _ is _ happening - but it’s like you’re living in a time capsule. The Knights are back, classes are back, even the Gatekeeper’s back - and damn it, you even still have the box of lost items from our school days!” he said, agitated, gesturing to the box she kept beneath her desk. He pulled out a case with an embroidered hedgehog in one hand and a book of knightly fables in the other. “What  _ is  _ this?”

Byleth silently took the case from his hands and turned it over within hers. “It was Bernadetta’s,” she said quietly. Byleth had tried to return the case once, but it had been after her hair had changed color and the recluse had run away screaming. “And the book, it’s Ashe’s, I think.”

“Ashe,” Claude repeated in disbelief, looking at the volume for a moment before shaking his head and dropping it back into the box. “You think we can just return that to them while we’re clashing swords on the battlefield?” 

“I never said that,” Byleth said. “Though - I do recall something - ” She reached in and rummaged around, pulling out a small glass vial with a clear liquid inside of it. “Yours, I presume?”

Byleth held it outstretched towards him and he stared at it, unmoving, for a while. He finally plucked it from her fingers and rolled it around, running a thumb over the worn label that time had faded blank. “Mild stomach poison,” he muttered under his breath. He looked to Byleth, a strange glimmer in his eyes. "You - " He broke off and shook his head. “You can’t think that nothing’s changed - ”

“I  _ don’t _ think nothing’s changed,” Byleth said, confused. “I don’t understand. I  _ know _ a war has been ongoing. You were the one to tell me what happened. And I told you, I’m sorry I wasn’t here for it - ”

“It’s not that,” Claude said, frustrated. Whether he was frustrated with himself or with her, Byleth couldn’t tell. “It’s just that -  _ you’re  _ everything I remember you to be, and I’m…  _ changed. _ ”

Byleth remembered that the last time their relationship suffered - when Byleth had struggled with being someone who could be read by someone else - that Claude had withdrawn because he had thought that there had been something wrong with  _ him _ . And maybe despite the man he had become, there was still a boy inside tripping over the insecurities of someone who feared rejection.

And while he no longer pushed others away by labeling himself with terms like “the physical embodiment of distrust,” he still wore a reputation of craftiness like protective armor.

“Spades went down a different path and you let her go - and I get it, I do - but then I wonder, what if you don’t like how  _ I’ve _ changed, and - ” He shook his head. “Forget it. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not - “ Byleth started, struggling to articulate. She was a little hurt that Claude would think she’d renege on her promise to support him so easily, that he’d take her example of what she’d done to Spades -  _ Spades, you let her die, you killed her _ \- and apply it to himself. “You’re not - “ She took a deep breath. “You are one of the most important people in my life.”

And it was true. Her father was gone, and Sothis was gone. Claude was quite possibly the single most important living person in her life, though telling him that wasn’t in the books for Byleth. That sentiment was probably a good deal more intimate than what he’d want to hear, and it was definitely a good deal more intimate than what she wanted to share.

“You’ve changed,” Byleth agreed. She didn’t need him to tell her that. He changed, the same way all of her deer changed. He still had his propensity to tease, but his jokes had matured. And where the old Claude was only ever earnest in private and religiously maintained a carefree façade in public, this Claude let himself be serious. “Why don’t you think it’s for the better?”

He stared at something over her shoulder. “Because it’s not  _ enough _ .”

“Enough for what?” Byleth pressed, but when Claude didn’t answer, she said gently, “Claude, you are the type of person who will always have big ambitions. I don’t think anything will ever be enough for you, but that doesn’t mean it’s  _ bad _ .” He softened slightly. “You’re enough for  _ me _ .”

He laughed, and she was relieved to hear a little more color in it. “I don’t think that will ever be true,” he said, which was downright cryptic given that she’d literally just told him the opposite and she was sure that she knew herself best, tell or no tell.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” she said dryly.

One corner of his lips tilted higher than the other. “I suppose that’s fair,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been stupid about this whole thing.”

_ Yes, you have been. _ “We’re all stupid about these types of things,” she said instead, because it was also true.

“Teach…. I’m glad you’re with me,” he said. He started fidgeting with his hands and looked surprised to see that he was still holding the vial he’d lost years ago.

“Careful with that,” Byleth said, rather off-handedly. “After five years, it’ll hardly be just  _ mild _ stomach poison. I have half a mind to confiscate it right back.”

Sleeves ruffled and the potion swiftly disappeared into an inner pocket. “Don’t worry. Lorenz has grown on me these past years,” Claude said. “I won’t be poisoning his tea again. At least, not anytime soon.”

Byleth narrowed her eyes. “So that  _ was _ you,” she accused, remembering how Lorenz had once hastily exited a tea time of theirs. Byleth hadn’t minded then - after all, an early end to a tea time meant less tea to drink - but the subsequent week in which Lorenz had implored for her forgiveness over his ghoulish exit that had been - in his words - unbecoming for a noble… Well, it had been a bit much.

Mostly because he had insisted on hosting  _ her _ for tea time with expensive imported teas several times that week as an apology, and she had to drink  _ every last drop _ of the overpriced herb juice that she couldn’t appreciate.

Claude widened his eyes innocently. “What was me?” he asked. When Byleth only narrowed her eyes further, he chuckled. “Anyways. I never did tell you what my big ambitions were, did I?”

Clever of him to change the topic at that precise moment. “No,” Byleth said. She hoped it didn’t have anything to do with poison.

He looked at Byleth, and she saw a rekindling of the fire she witnessed earlier. He inhaled deeply, as if preparing for something grand - and he held it at the top for just a moment before he released his breath along with his dreams. “I want to open the Fódlan walls to the outside. I want to see a city where people from Fódlan, Almyra, Brigid, Dagda… all different heritages, all living together. I want…” He stood, unable to keep still, and began pacing in the small space that was her bedroom. “I want people to  _ realize _ that on the other side of the border, it’s just… more people. Not  _ other _ people. Not a people whose differences should be feared, or belittled, or…”

“Discriminated,” Byleth supplied.

His gaze locked with hers, and that  _ heat _ , that heat of his gaze ignited something low in her core, and it was at once both delicious and terrifying.

“Yes,” he breathed.

It was hard to think with the way he was looking at her, every stray thought snapping back to emerald green eyes. And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder, “Why did you keep it a secret for so long? It’s a noble ambition.”

He smiled at her, and his features softened around it. “You know the evils of the battlefield so well, sometimes I forget that you don’t know much of the evils outside of it.” He sat down beside her, leaning in over folded hands. His knee touched hers, she noticed.

“There’s a lot of hate out there, my friend. And it can twist reason into madness.” He sighed. “Better keep your motives secret, so no one can twist and taint them.”

She didn’t know if she believed that, but she nodded anyways. She had promised that she’d support him in his choices.

Their talk must have settled something for Claude, because he reverted to his old ways of filling any and all silences. He picked up the book again - Ashe’s book - and read, “ _ The Moon Knight’s Tale _ . What’s it about?”

“You know,” Byleth said, “I’ve never read it.”

“What,” Claude said with a slow grin on his lips, “you haven’t been reading? What else have you been filling your endless free time with?”

She took the book from him. The leather cover had been stained dark blue with a well-worn spine that betrayed its age. “Maybe it’s about a man who brought about peace to a nation and settled its rivalries with its neighbors,” she supposed. “A man who broke down barriers between cultures.”

“He sounds devilishly handsome, this man,” Claude said. “Is he?”

He  _ knew _ he was handsome. “He’s tolerable to look at,” Byleth said.

“Ouch, Teach,” Claude said in mock woundedness. “Just  _ tolerable _ ?”

“Who said I was talking about you?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“Touche, touche.” He hummed contentedly to himself for a moment, and Byleth enjoyed the quiet. “Or maybe the story’s about his best friend, the goddess-infused human - a demon on the battlefield and a saint outside of it. And her weird blue-green streaky hair.”

_ Best friend _ , he’d said. No one before Claude had ever called her friend, and now he’d given her the title of  _ best friend _ .

It almost made up for his uncalled for commentary on her dyed hair that she’d forgotten about. But she was now suddenly self conscious about it all over again - did Claude dislike it? Not that the coloring was permanent. And not like it mattered what he thought, anyways.

“She sounds tolerable to look at,” Byleth said, because she didn’t know what else to say.

“She’s more than that,” Claude said simply. Which was just as well, because Byleth didn’t know what else she wanted  _ him  _ to say.

She was just glad to have him back.


	12. T is for Treachery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fidget let out a bark of laughter. “Now you have it, Earl Whetstone. What you don’t know can’t hurt you,” he said smartly.
> 
> “Except that it can,” Byleth said, frowning. It didn’t make any sense.
> 
> “Sure,” Fidget allowed, waving her contradiction away. “But at least you get to be happy until it’s too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to StealthFlower who combed over this chapter and helped me go over the story's outline of plot points to come. I'd be falling apart without you!

“ _ Light _ fabric? Now?” Fidget said. “During the  _ Pegasus Moon _ ?”

Claude threw his hands up in the air, imitating befuddlement. “The rich like being irrational,” he said. “How else can they prove that they’re impossibly wealthy besides wearing impractical clothing that makes them feel absolutely miserable?”

Byleth had discussed with Claude possible cover stories that would explain their need for summer fabrics in the dead of winter. They’d ultimately landed on an old client of Claude’s reaching out in search of exotic, airy fabrics for his daughter’s dowry, or something like that. She’d left Claude to decide on the details.

“You got a point there,” Fidget said begrudgingly. “But not that much nice stuff passes through here.”

“Look, I get it,” Claude said. “But can’t blame me for trying. I’ve lost a lot of my old contacts thanks to the war. If there’s anything you can scrounge up, I’d split the cut with you, of course.”

Fidget blew air out slowly and shifted in his seat, but Byleth had played enough poker with him to know that was all drama. It was the way he ever-so-subtly bit the inside of his cheek that told Byleth that he was deeply uncomfortable about something.

“All right. I’ll see what I can dig up,” he said finally. He nodded at Byleth. “Nice hair, by the way.  Suits you better.”

Ignatz had pulled through and made a blue dye for her that would wash out after a day. “Thanks.” To be honest, she rather missed the blue as well. She still wasn’t used to catching her reflection and locking eyes with green irises framed with green hair.

“Kinda figured you two would’ve tied the knot by now, to be honest,” Fidget said, leaning back in his chair. “At first, I thought you needed the fabric for your own wedding clothes or something.”

Hold up.

_ What? _

That was utterly unexpected. What did he even  _ mean _ by that -

Byleth felt her face flare despite herself and she heard a strangled sound coming from her left where Claude sat beside her. Right. She’d forgotten that they had been masquerading as lovers, thanks to that improvised line from Claude all those months - or  _ years _ , rather - ago.

“Hardly the time for such a celebration, don’t you think?” Byleth said once she composed herself.

Fidget shrugged. “It’s the best time for it, wouldn’t you say? Never know what tomorrow might bring, so better celebrate what’s good while you can,” he said, a roguish grin creeping onto his face.

For fuck’s sake, the man was  _ teasing  _ them. It was a return to the amicable Fidget she’d known who overused the same jokes - or it would have been, had his eyes livened up with his smile. Instead, Byleth was reminded of Claude’s use of humor as a tool for deflection.

But… deflecting from what?

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” Claude said, and the back of his neck still looked rather flushed despite how calm he sounded. Did she look the same? “You would’ve been the first to know if that happened.”

“Bullshit,” Fidget said.

And, because she was curious to see how he’d respond, Byleth said, “Not like we could keep a secret from you at any rate.”

But Fidget just chuckled and said, “Aye, you are the sharp blade, eh?” Then he shook his head. “If I could read you, you wouldn’t have swept those poker winnings like you did. Not that I want to know your secrets, anyways.”

“Why not?” Claude asked out of seemingly genuine curiosity, and Byleth resolved to kick him later for pressing on a topic that they didn’t want pushed. After all, they hardly  _ wanted _ to incite Fidget into nosiness.

“What can I say? Ignorance is bliss,” he said.

And that was an odd thing for him to say, because Byleth knew the man was observant. She’d lost more than one good hand to him in the past, and he had been the one to remark on small changes like the increase in merchants just before things went to hell. He had always said that Spades was the smart one, but that didn’t mean  _ he _ was dumb.

Spades had been wiser. She had played poker for sport and not for profit, and she had known to play conservatively. She had anticipated changes in the wind, if their conversations after her father’s death were anything to go by. But Fidget was  _ clever _ . He had usually turned some earnings from poker, and he  _ noticed _ things, even if he didn’t always know how to act on the information at his disposal.

So why did he say that ignorance was bliss? What sort of secrets did he uncover that made him regret his knowledge?

“If ignorance is bliss… Huh. Is that what I’ve been doing wrong all these years in my pursuit of happiness, then?” Claude said wryly.

Fidget let out a bark of laughter. “Now you have it, Earl Whetstone. What you don’t know can’t hurt you,” he said smartly.

“Except that it can,” Byleth said, frowning. It didn’t make any sense.

“Sure,” Fidget allowed, waving her contradiction away. “But at least you get to be happy until it’s too late.”

_ If only we’d be brave enough to die _ … wasn’t that what Fidget had said before?

Byleth couldn’t help but wonder if she and Claude had just made a grave mistake.

* * *

Except Fidget did deliver in the end and somehow managed to bring them yards and yards of linen that they paid for with all the money taken from Spades’ bandit troupe. Sure, it meant they overpaid a bit, but it made Byleth feel marginally better to be redirecting that gold back to the underground.

Between Ignatz’s parents, Fidget, and  _ Maya _ \- who had unexpectedly turned out to share more similarities with  _ Lysithea _ than her brother Raphael - Claude didn’t end up needing to source anything from Almyra.

Sewing kits were scattered throughout the reception hall; soldiers were measured and outfitted; and before Byleth knew it, she was packing for the long road through Ailell and back.

Concoctions, smithing stones, a spare sword… was she missing anything?

Her eyes landed on the novel still sitting on her desk -  _ The Moon Knight’s Tale _ . She knew she ought to be traveling light, but on impulse, she threw the book into her bag as well. Reading passages from it might help with morale, and given the way Hilda’s complaints had been coming in more frequently as the departure date advanced, it wouldn’t  _ hurt. _

Pack slung over her shoulder, Byleth left her room to find Raphael in the middle of a…  _ spirited _ good-bye with his sister.

“ _ You _ should just worry about yourself, you great oaf. I am  _ not _ a child and I can take care of myself,” Maya was saying crossly. “Now as for  _ you _ , I can hardly trust you to look both ways before charging head first into danger.”

Byleth considered turning around and melting back into her room. Surely there was something she’d forgotten to pack. Better double-check to make sure.

“Ah, don’t worry about that. The Professor would never let that happen. Anyways, no bad guy will ever be able to beat your Big Bro and his muscles!” Raphael said, and it was evident that his sister’s diatribes had no effect on his good humor.

“You are just  _ impossible _ ,” Maya groaned. “Must you continue repeating the same tired excuses? Could you  _ listen _ for a change?”

Come to think, Byleth figured she should probably re-evaluate if the sword she had selected was the best for the excursion. There was a bow in her room that she could swap it out for. Best that she take a look before either of them noticed her.

“They’re just adorable, aren’t they?”

But it seemed someone  _ else  _ had noticed her already. Byleth turned to find Hilda had come up beside her, interrupting her retreat into her bedroom.

“I know a thing or two about overbearing big brothers. You’d think Maya would know how to deal with them by now,” Hilda said, giggling behind a hand.

Byleth couldn’t relate. The most overbearing familial figure she’d had was Sothis, and Byleth would bet money that Hilda’s tactics for dealing with brothers did not extend to goddess figures that lived in mind spaces. “What’s the strategy?” Byleth wondered.

“Oh, you know,” she started airily. “You have to let them dote on you first. Get it out of their system. And  _ then _ you say something that makes them pay attention, like,  _ Can I be honest with you? _ That’s when you tell them what you want to say.”

Byleth paused. “You’re quite skilled in reading people, aren’t you?” What Hilda described wasn’t quite manipulation, but Byleth thought she saw a potential budding talent.

“Only when it comes to older brothers,” Hilda dismissed.

But that wasn’t true. She’d seen first hand how Hilda had not only convinced others to cover her chores for her in the past, but convince them to  _ offer _ to do her chores for her. That proved Hilda was capable of an interpersonal skill set that had evaded Byleth her whole life, and it made her think that maybe Claude wasn’t the only one of her students who could have flourished at the underground poker table.

Maybe it was how dynamic Hilda could be when she presented herself to others. She knew how to grab the center of attention - mostly when there were men around to flirt with - and she knew how to be overlooked - usually when there was any manual labor that needed to be done.

Byleth briefly imagined training Hilda as a spy.  _ Ha _ . Hilda would never forgive her if she forced the noble to try it on for size.

Right on cue, Hilda said, “Oh no. Why are you  _ smiling _ like that? It’s making me  _ uncomfortable! _ ”

“It’s nothing,” Byleth said. “You just surprise me sometimes. In a good way, of course.”

“Well, I don’t know what I said, but don’t expect much more than that,” Hilda said before making a quick retreat back to her room herself.

* * *

It turned out that Ashe’s selection for stories did help with morale a bit.

“ _ Look for me during the next full moon, the moon knight had said. But tonight, the last of the waning crescent would disappear to cloud and shadow, and she feared that tonight, the raiders would attack. Tonight, the evening when the new moon reigned _ ,” Leonie read from atop her horse. Then she fell silent, and Byleth looked over in concern just to find Leonie’s eyes quickly scanning the next few lines.

“What? Don’t stop there! You can’t just read it to yourself!” Lysithea protested as she fanned the nape of her neck. It had only taken a day beneath the Ailell sun before Lysithea had somewhat abashedly approached Hilda, asking the axe-wielder to pin up her hair for her. Hilda had all but squealed and fawned over what style would best frame the mage’s face until Felix had interjected impatiently, “For fuck’s sake. We’re here to receive an  _ army _ , not a damn parade of suitors!” - and had thereby earned the ire of several of the female soldiers,  _ and _ Lorenz to boot.

“Yeah, come on!” called Raphael, his own brow slick with sweat. “What happens next?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Leonie said hastily, flipping back a page. “But why can’t the moon knight come with the new moon?”

“Because his powers charge  _ with _ the moon,” Lysithea said impatiently. “And they’re probably all depleted now.”

“To be fair, I don’t think they’ve actually explained that part yet,” Ignatz said, touching up his face with a bit of cream. It seemed like despite his best efforts, his skin was determined to burn, if the rosy hue on the tops of his cheeks were anything to go by.

“Enough chatter! I gotta know. Do the raiders attack?” Raphael said.

“Here Professor, you read it,” Leonie said, passing the book down to Byleth.

Byleth looked up to grab the book from Leonie, and just as her hand wrapped around its spine, she thought she saw a shadow shimmer through the heat waves. “Get  _ down _ ,” she ordered, abruptly, suddenly - just as an arrow whizzed by and tore a hole in her cloak.

Her stomach dropped. They’d been intercepted.

“But how did they know - “ Seteth started, already readying his lance and reeling his wyvern in.

“There’s no time for that now,” Claude said quickly, darting a glance at Byleth - and she knew he was thinking the same thing. He kicked into the sides of his wyvern before Byleth could remind him that there was  _ clearly an archer awaiting him and he shouldn’t be accelerating into as yet unseen enemy formations - _

But instead, he flew higher towards the scorching sun. “Imperial flags,” he confirmed upon descent, grimacing.

Byleth nodded. They’d talk about this later. “Ground units with me,” she commanded. A great rock formation was straight ahead and the arrow had come in from its right. “Cavalry take the left. We’ll try to flank the enemy. Marianne, I want you with the mounted units.” If they were to split up around the pillar, she wanted the healer with the other party.

Behind the pillar, as it turned out, was a chasm - and on Byleth’s side, there was a plain of bedrock too hot to stand on. Another arrow came flying and she heard Lysithea hiss behind her.

As they had dressed for the environment, no one was wearing their usual armor. Felix would be fine - he had always dressed lightly and relied on his speed to evade the enemy’s attacks rather than defensive armor - but what about Hilda? What about Raphael?

“Felix and Lysithea with me on the frontlines and the rest of you, hold up the rear,” she ordered. She wiped away the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand. Fuck, it was  _ hot _ .

She braced herself and sprinted across the bedrock, and she could feel its heat through the soles of her boots, foreboding blisters should she linger in one place too long. A swordsman rushed to meet her, and she deflected his overhand attack as she felt Lysithea’s spell brush past beneath her raised arm. A burst of dark magic hit the Imperial soldier squarely in the chest, and Byleth heard him crumple rather than saw it.

_ Always make sure your opponent is dead before you move on _ , her father had instructed her.  _ Otherwise, they might rise up again and stab you in the back _ . But that was the way of the lone wolf. By trusting her team to cover her back in such scenarios, Byleth was afforded the privilege of looking forwards toward oncoming assaults.

To her left, she saw Claude in his yellow headscarf that he’d claimed he’d tied on a whim to shield off the sun. They were making good progress on their way to join up with Byleth, which meant she needed to quickly dispose of the archers to her right -

Her breath left her lungs, not for the first time today. Pale green eyes framed by mousy grey hair looked straight at her over a notched arrow pointed at her heart.

“Ashe,” Byleth managed.  _ No _ .

She had wondered in passing what had become of the students outside of her class. She had feared that she might eventually clash blades with some of the Black Eagles, but she’d never thought…

It seemed only yesterday that Ashe was helping her haggle down the price of teas and weapons in the marketplace.

Ashe’s lips were set to a grim line. He’d evidently seen her before she’d seen him, and he’d already committed to his resolve. “I don’t want to fight you, Professor. But this is how it has to be.”

Felix’s blade glinted in the corner of her eye as he cut down another soldier - an archer, or a swordsman, Byleth didn’t know. She could only see  _ Ashe _ and his fingers that were starting to twitch around the taut bowstring, and she dove right - but the arrow caught on the sleeve of her off arm and then her shoulder seared hot, burning hotter than the sun in this goddess forsaken  _ desert _ -

Byleth pushed forward, tightening her grip on her sword as Ashe deftly notched another arrow. She should  _ say _ something - this was  _ Ashe _ \- but her mind was dumbfounded past words and all she could say was, “I have your book.”

Confusion knitted Ashe’s brow briefly, but his grip never loosened and his aim continued to trail her movements. “What?”

And  _ damn it _ , this was just like Spades again, wasn’t it? When all she had been able to say were paltry sentiments like  _ I’m sorry _ and  _ you don’t deserve this _ as the woman had lain dying at her hand.

“ _ The Moon Knight’s Tale _ ,” Byleth said as Ashe let another arrow fly. This one she dodged, and on her return, she swung the flat side of her sword and forcibly batted the bow out of his hands. “We were reading it on the journey. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t - ” Ashe frowned. “I don’t  _ mind _ , but - ”

At that point, Felix caught up to Byleth, his sword raised and readied for an attack. And then his eyes narrowed - “ _ Ashe? _ ” he said, but whatever surprise he might have felt passed quickly, for he scoffed immediately after. “Didn’t think you’d have signed up to be the Empire’s lapdog.” He turned, almost as if finding an old Blue Lions classmate here wasn’t worth his time. “I’ll leave him to you, Professor.”

Even as Ashe started scrambling to retrieve his bow, Byleth stayed her blade. “You could join us, you know,” she said. “I’d like it if you joined us.”

* * *

She’d encountered them before: men so defeated by life that a part of them yearned to be defeated  _ into _ death. Perhaps they had seen so much death already that the idea of succumbing to it was no longer foreign or frightening.

Byleth wondered if she’d some day feel the same, to be faced with a still blade and yet still choose the death sentence. What would the world look like at that point when the better option would be to leave it?

“Ah, so I have found a place to die. Young ones, I thank you,” Gwendal had said. 

Ashe had watched his old general die with all the guilt of a turncoat. “Damned if you live, damned if you die,” he had whispered with a depth of exhaustion that proved just how much time had passed for him as well.

They’d received the troops from Judith and made camp for the night, and now Byleth was watching this new army -  _ her  _ army - try to settle in.

Ashe sat to one side of the camp, staring into the fire. She should accompany him, Byleth thought - be present, even if she was no good with words.

_ I have your book _ , indeed. If Sothis were here, she’d never let Byleth hear the end of it.

But then Marianne beat her to it, and Byleth watched the healer hesitantly pad up to their newest recruit. “Umm,” she started. “I don’t know what to say, but… I’m glad you’re here.”

Byleth smiled. If there were someone who could provide comfort while respecting his grief, she thought it might be Marianne.

Her gaze flicked back to Claude standing several yards away, and he was looking rather disgruntled as Judith berated him about one thing or the other. Then his eyes met hers, and he grinned ruefully.

He must have said something to disentangle himself from the conversation in a way Judith didn’t appreciate, because he was suddenly walking towards her as Judith barked after him, “You get back here, boy!” before stalking away, muttering under her breath.

“So, Valley of Torment, huh? Think it lived up to its name?” he said as he came up to her, grinning still.

There was so much to discuss with him, but she couldn’t bring herself to start any of it. So instead she said, “I like your scarf.”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He tugged the scarf free from the knot that kept it wound around his forehead. It left his hair a bit of a mess, and he tried pushing it back with his hand with minimal success. It was a rather charming picture, Byleth thought. “Thanks, I guess.” He shoved the headscarf into a pocket.

“Maybe you should teach Ignatz how to tie one, he’ll be peeling for weeks,” she observed lightly. To be honest, she wasn’t sure how  _ Felix _ wasn’t the one sunburnt all over, given that he’d grown up in the Kingdom, which saw a lot less sun than the rest of Fódlan - and not to mention his pale complexion. Maybe he was too hot headed to be burned by something as trivial as the sun.

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be a sight to behold,” Claude said, mostly to himself. “In all honesty, I think I’d like to see how  _ you’d  _ look wearing it.”

The nights in Ailell were blessedly cool, but Byleth felt oddly warm anyways. “Do women wear headscarves too in - well, elsewhere?” she asked, correcting herself too late. While there wasn’t anyone near them, the camp was still too full to chance spilling someone else’s secret.

“Ah,” Claude said, clearing his throat. He looked uncomfortable. She’d overstepped, Byleth realized with slow dread. Heavens, could she get  _ none _ of her words right today? “Some of them do. Some wear veils.”

Byleth shook her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have - ”

“No, it’s not that,” Claude said quickly. “I just - it’s a little strange to be talking about the customs I grew up with is all.”

She didn’t understand, but she said, “All right.” Despite having travelled across Fódlan as a part of her father’s mercenary band, they hadn’t taken many jobs outside of the country. She couldn’t claim to know how Claude was feeling, because she’d never lived through his experiences. Maybe he was just nostalgic, a child of two worlds, living in one while talking about the other. “I wouldn’t mind trying on a headscarf.”

And then his grin was all boyish again as he said with a wink, “As long as I’m the one to tie it for you. What do you say, my friend?”

“Of course,” Byleth said. As if she knew anyone else from Almyra who would want to see her adorn a headscarf. Well, there was Cyril, but she doubted he wanted to observe  _ any  _ Almyra traditions in Fódlan.

Claude laughed, and he was more amused than Byleth really thought he ought to be. After all, wasn’t he uncomfortable just moments ago? Why had she been so worried that she’d managed to offend him again if he was just going to laugh like this seconds later?

“What?” Byleth demanded.

“Nothing,” Claude said, shaking his head. “I don’t think you know what you agreed to.”

Oh for the goddess’s sake. Was there some ulterior meaning to tying a headscarf in Almyra? Claude had worn his headscarf into battle. Did the action mark someone as a rival? As a subordinate?

If Claude thought he could mark her as his  _ subordinate _ ...

“ _ Claude _ . What did I agree to?”

But he just winked again and leaned back, arms folded behind his head. “Can’t a guy keep  _ some _ secrets, Teach?” he said teasingly. “Anyways, I better go check up on Judith before she gets  _ too _ worked up about me walking off on her like that earlier.”

Byleth narrowed her eyes. “You should be concerned about working  _ me _ up if you walk off on  _ me _ right now - ”

But he just strutted away anyways all the while whistling to himself, and Byleth could practically  _ feel _ the smugness radiating from him.

That man, Byleth thought with a sigh, might end up being the death of her.

* * *

That is, if the war didn’t end up killing her first.

They were about a day and a half away from Garreg Mach when the scouts returned, hands on their knees and out of breath.

“There’s - ” one started, panting, “ -  _ armies _ . Up ahead.” The scout held up two fingers, still trying to catch her breath. “Two.”

They’d been intercepted?  _ Again _ ?

Byleth exchanged a concerned glance with Claude before repeating, “ _ Two _ ? Two armies?”

The scout nodded. “There’s the Imperial army,” the scout confirmed, “and - the other - it looked like the  _ Kingdom’s _ flags - ”

She heard a scratch of metal, the sound of a whetstone sliding across the wrong edge of the blade. She turned and there was Felix, with his sword in hand and his jaw set.

“Thank you,” she said to the scout before turning to Claude. “Get everyone in formation.”

His gaze was sharp. “The Kingdom - ”

“We can hope to greet an ally, but be prepared to greet two enemies,” Byleth said, cutting him off. Perhaps it would be wiser to let the second army meet the Imperial army first and then take on the weakened Empire troops, but if that second army  _ was  _ what was left of the Kingdom… They wouldn’t last long, and their best chances of survival would be if the Alliance arrived to assist.

Byleth knew that history had never seen a treaty discussed  _ on the battlefield _ and odds were that rushing in with raised weapons now would most likely mean facing two enemies at once. She knew she was making a strategic mistake when she said anyways, “We’ll charge forward and meet them both.”

Because if it were the last of the Kingdom resistance out there, they might be able to save a friend.

Claude nodded, watching her. “Be prepared to greet two enemies,” he repeated, and in that moment, she knew that he understood why she wanted to press onward.

A horn blew from somewhere out in the distance.

Byleth touched the hilt of her blade at her hip, and the Sword of the Creator glowed red.


	13. T is for Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I had to fall off the ends of the earth with someone, I’m glad it’s with you,” Byleth said.
> 
> “Come now,” Claude said as he stood, his grin taking on a teasing tilt. Her hand, placed upon his shoulder, slid down to his arm - but Claude didn’t remove his grip on her. “You already fell off the ends of the earth once, and I’m glad you didn’t take me with you. Mostly because I wouldn’t have survived that cliff you described.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being forced to work from home means writing a lot more fanfic when I should be working.
> 
> Thank you to StealthFlower once more for reviewing this chapter!! Let's go, unlucky chapter 13.

Clashing blades with old coworkers wasn’t a new concept for Byleth.

Occasionally, mercenaries would switch between crews. Sometimes, the good ones would go off and found a company of their own. Her father hadn’t usually picked the jobs that would face off one merc crew against another - those jobs tended to be either entirely too political or too petty for his tastes - but it had happened from time to time.

This was different.

The first person she saw was Bernadetta, whose fear and alarm was glaringly obvious even as she stood her ground. The archer looked terribly lost, positioned alone on a raised cliff edge, and she seemed torn as to whether she wanted to survive the oncoming conflict or if she wanted to be the first one claimed.

That they’d positioned Bernadetta on the front lines alone like this was  _ cruel _ .

There was a knot in her throat. Byleth swallowed. It hurt.

And then the rest of the army came around the corner, their armor glittering in the sunlight. From another fork carved into the canyon came a smaller set of troops, raising a blue flag with the Kingdom sigil.

She heard Claude curse beside her.

There were too many familiar faces.

* * *

Manuela was the first once-friendly face that Byleth claimed with her blade.

“Oh dear, Professor. Fate can be so cruel,” Manuela said, raising her sword. “Spilling the blood of our own students with our own hands… How can we carry on after that?”

Manuela had always been a very different person than Byleth: a little too vain, a little too impulsive, a little too desperate for love. Byleth had had her own… well, she’d had  _ opinions _ about the woman when they’d first met, but the intervening months had revealed so much more to Manuela’s character: that she was simply a woman who knew how to love others but never learned how to love herself.

It had been Manuela who taught Byleth the basics of white magic so that Byleth could better teach her own students. Byleth had used what she knew to help attend to Manuela’s own injuries that the Death Knight had inflicted after Flayn’s kidnapping. And Manuela had covered her lectures in the week following her father’s death when Byleth had been too numb to do anything but stare blankly at her bedroom wall, trying to understand what it was to cry.

And evidently, like Byleth, Manuela had followed her own class of students to war to protect them and to fight for them; and Byleth could only respect her old co-worker even as their common reasoning brought them to opposite sides of the battleground.

“I’d rather not do this,” Byleth said honestly.

“Everything’s spiralled rather heavily out of control, hasn’t it?” Manuela said.

_ There must be another way, _ Byleth kept thinking to herself as blades clashed and steel sang.

But Manuela didn’t yield, and neither did Byleth; and between the two of them, Byleth had always been the better swordswoman.

* * *

And then there was Ferdinand.

“Professor,” he greeted as he spun his lance high, “I did not think that we would experience a reunion such as this. I did not dare to dream up such a nightmare.”

Ferdinand, who had spent the entire school year trying to prove himself better than Edelgard, apparently had instead found in her someone worth fighting  _ for _ . He had been so desperate to prove himself a leader then, but now it seemed he had learned to play a supporting role. It was such a growth of character that Byleth couldn’t help but commend, “I am impressed by the place you carved for yourself in Edelgard’s new world, Ferdinand. You’ve truly come a long way in five years.”

“It is every man’s duty to strive for self betterment,” he acknowledged.

“You’ve done yourself well,” Byleth said. “I am proud of you.”

She readjusted her grip on her sword.

“Indeed. And I will not hold back,” Ferdinand said, grimacing. “You will see that my skills have grown in more ways than one.”

He danced out of the way of her lunge and she barely dodged being pierced by his lance. Her mind was swimming and she kept thinking that none of this - none of this felt  _ real _ .

In all honesty, she couldn’t feel much of anything at all.

The Ashen Demon, she’d once been called. The mercenary who could strike down a foe without a flicker of emotion.

But this was different, she decided when Ferdinand parried a blow with such force that Byleth felt its power reverberate through her arms and it hardly phased her. She was more than just numb. Everything about the situation was so surreal, it was as if she were watching herself from outside of her body.

“Let us each fight for our moral values until the end,” she said.

“Yes,” Ferdinand agreed, and his words sounded forced. “If I live, I fight.”

And it was those words -  _ if I live, I fight - _ that snapped Byleth back into the reality of her situation.  _ If I live.  _ He had come up to challenge her in this battle, but on some level, he didn’t believe that he would come out as the victor. He fought because he believed it was the right and honorable thing to do, and he expected to die at her hand for it.

* * *

Ferdinand’s final cry twisted her stomach into an ugly mess, and Byleth thought she might hurl from it. Her face was wet, but she wasn’t sure if it were the splatter of blood or the falling of tears - and she had to choke something back, but whether it was bile or a sob, she couldn’t tell.

_ Spilling the blood of our own students with our own hands… how can we carry on after that? _

She didn’t have an answer for Manuela, but she would figure it out. She had to, for her Deer.

* * *

All Byleth could see, hear, breathe was chaos.

Her students - her  _ soldiers _ \- weren’t faring any better.

Somewhere towards her left, she heard Sylvain - “ _ Move _ , Felix - don’t make me break our promise we made when we were kids.”

(“Why are you here?” Felix demanded, his tone more caustic than usual; but maybe Sylvain expected something of that sort as he responded curtly, “We’re here for our  _ king _ .  _ You _ are the one that gave up on him and left, Felix. Now  _ move. _ ”)

She needed to end this soon.

Byleth fought her way towards Lysithea. “Warp me to Dimitri,” she commanded.

Lysithea’s eyes briefly flitted over to where Dimitri was cleaving his way through an army of red. “You’d be surrounded by enemy units,” Lysithea protested as a spell left her fingertips. Dark energy wrapped itself around a Kingdom soldier, dragging him to the ground.

“Warp me,  _ now _ ,” Byleth said, smashing the hilt of her sword against the skull of a brawler that had been knocked down and was now moving to stand back up; and to her credit, Lysithea swallowed her concerns and complied.

“I can get you three paces away from him,” Lysithea said, measuring the distance.

Byleth spun around Lysithea and cut down a fighter that was charging at the mage from behind. “That will do.”

And then Byleth felt that familiar sensation of all the air suddenly dissipating from her lungs and her head was spinning in tight, dizzying circles and the weight of her body had thinned to nothing -

Then her senses were all restored, feet planted firmly on the ground three paces away from a one-eyed king.

* * *

She tried three times.

On the first try, she shouted his name: “Dimitri - ”

She tried to appeal to him: “We can work together, let us fight Edelgard together and restore the Kingdom - ”

And he looked at her with his one good eye and said with a chilling hate she hadn’t known him to be capable of - “If you stand in my path to Edelgard, I will kill you too.”

She hadn’t yet felt the pain of a lance point pressing through the thin fabric of her Ailell garb and into the soft of her belly when she reached for Sothis’ power and rewound time.

* * *

On the second try, she commanded him: “Dimitri,  _ stop _ . Listen to me - ”

His eye turned on her, delirious. “Have you come to haunt me too? I will bring you her head, what more can you want - ”

And Byleth didn’t know what he was talking about, but it terrified her. “ _ Stop _ this - you’ll get yourself killed - ”

“I won’t. I don’t deserve to die,” he said. He raised his lance at a diagonal as if to slash away her image, and Byleth closed her eyes, twisting away through time once more.

* * *

On the third try, she begged him: “Dimitri, come with me. I care about you too much to let you take on Edelgard by yourself. Let me help you,  _ please _ .”

And even though she didn’t know Dimitri the same way she knew Claude or Marianne or even Felix, she had seen enough in the past two iterations of possible realities to understand that the man before her was impossibly broken.

She couldn’t help but think that  _ no _ , this was not the way Dimitri was supposed to go. Because whoever this monster that stood before her  _ wasn’t _ Dimitri - or, at least, was a version of Dimitri that had forgotten a good deal about who he truly was - and Byleth thought that there was no worse way to die than to be anyone other than oneself.

After all, Byleth believed, what was the point of dying if you didn’t know what you had lived for and what you were dying for?

“I  _ want _ to help you,” she implored.

And the look he gave her - this one was different from the times before. This was a look of utter disgust.

“Don’t think you can fool me so easily,” Dimitri said coldly. “You cannot distract me from my goal. I will have her head, and yours.”

And Byleth understood then that because she didn’t know Dimitri like she knew Claude or Marianne or Felix, she couldn’t save him - because Dimitri didn’t  _ trust _ her.

He was too far gone into the realm of madness for her to appeal to reason, and she had been too busy investing in her own house during his school days to build the trust she needed now to calm the beast.

Turning back the hands of time by a few seconds wouldn’t solve anything. No matter what she tried now, her efforts would come too late.

He raised his lance a third time.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Byleth said.

And before his reaction could unfurl and break her heart again, Byleth yanked herself back through time - but this time, a little further.

* * *

“We’re here for our  _ king _ .  _ You _ are the one that gave up on him and left, Felix. Now  _ move _ .”

“He’s not a king,” Felix sneered. “He’s a  _ boar _ . But fine, have it your way. Go ahead and walk into a death trap.”

Felix stepped aside and Sylvan lingered long enough to stare hard at Felix before turning and charging into the Imperial ranks. In the distance, a lone king continued carving himself a path through Edelgard’s army, leaving a trail of dead in his wake.

But his progress began to slow as his injuries began to take its toll. And then an archer released an arrow that lodged itself in Dimitri’s throat, and this time, Byleth saw with her own eyes that the king rumored to be dead had fallen for good.

* * *

Claude had been the one to fire the last shot at Edelgard, but she had retreated before her injuries fully crippled her. And now they stood victorious in a valley filled with the dead, a mere day and a half away from Garreg Mach.

Byleth had never seen a scene of triumph that looked more defeated.

A weariness echoed within her as she wandered almost listlessly through the remains of the battleground, checking on the fallen and searching for the wounded.

She passed by Ashe, who had picked up an Imperial helmet and was staring at its sigil inscribed proudly at the forefront. “I had no idea… If they’d arrived only a few days earlier, then Lord Gwendal…” he muttered faintly to himself before shaking his head. “No, I mustn't think like that.” He threw the helmet on the ground with a little more vigor than strictly necessarily and strode off with all the purpose of having nowhere to be but with an inexplicable need to  _ get away _ .

All of the Imperial army had fallen back, but the tattered remains of the Kingdom resistance lingered. Claude was confronting Sylvain, pestering him for answers. “I thought that Dimitri was long dead,” Claude was saying. “We would’ve extended a formal invitation to ally if we’d had known…”

“We’d only found him a few months ago,” Sylvain said. “Well,  _ Dedue _ found him a few months ago, though he won’t say where - or even  _ how _ , for that matter.”

“We thought it wise to keep those who were aware of his survival to a minimum,” Ingrid said with a heavy sigh. “He’d been assumed dead for  _ years _ and when he was found, his mental state was…” Her lips folded into a troubled frown and the knight fell silent, unable to articulate.

“Maybe we were wrong to keep it a secret,” Sylvain said, shrugging with his arms wide. “Well, suppose it’s truly over, now.”

“The war’s  _ not _ over,” Felix interjected.

A bit of silence fell - perhaps they were waiting for Felix to continue, but he didn’t. Byleth stepped up and said, “He’s right. We could use your help in ending the war.”

She pretended not to notice the way Felix stiffened, or the way Sylvain’s eyes slid quickly between Ingrid and Felix.

“I’m afraid I do not have that sort of luxury,” Ingrid declined formally after clearing her throat. “The situation in Galatea is dire, in part thanks to the war. The lands have never been rich, but now the suffering is worse. Now that our attempt to restore our king has failed, I owe it to the people to return and restore stability instead.”

Sylvain seemed torn. “The war in Fodlan has only encouraged Sreng to invade Gautier territory,” he said finally. “We haven’t really got resources to spare if we want to maintain that border, and now with Dimitri gone… that’s probably where I’m needed most.”

Byleth nodded. “I understand,” she said - and she did, even if she were a little disappointed. They had their duties as Crest-bearing nobles to a land without a ruler.

It seemed so long ago that Sylvain and Felix had bickered and stumbled their way across a ballroom together, while Ingrid had shared stories of their childhood with Byleth as they watched the two from the corner of their eyes from within their own dance. That was a different world. They were all different people.

“But, in honor of his late majesty, our lands will not be swept into the Empire so easily,” Ingrid said, grounding her lance into the dirt perhaps subconsciously. “We shall hold them fastidiously and root for your success. Whatever I can afford to provide from afar, I will endeavor to.”

But Ingrid’s tone was far too polite for someone who’d just watched her king die and her old classmates fall. And Sylvain was still watching Felix, who in turn was refusing to make eye contact with anyone; so Byleth excused herself by saying, “That’s a generous offer, Ingrid. Thank you. But for now, I must continue my search for survivors.”

Because clearly there were words that needed to be aired between three childhood friends who had just lost the fourth, and Byleth had no part in it - nor did she particularly  _ want _ a part in it.

Claude apparently picked up on the same cues, for he slipped away shortly after and fell in step beside her. They kept each other company in silence for a while as they walked from corpse to corpse, checking wrists for heartbeats. The skin of the dead was still warm to the touch, thanks to the sun that shone brightly even on this side of the valley. And it was all so disgustingly  _ morbid _ , and after the events of the afternoon - after what  _ she’d _ done this afternoon - Byleth felt sick in her  _ own _ skin.

_ Spilling the blood of our own students with our own hands… _

Hands that were still warm but were attached to wrists without a pulse and eyes that were glazed.

Wrists that mirrored the rhythm of her heartbeat in its unending silence.

_ How can we carry on after that? _

“There is more to fear in life than there is in death,” Byleth reminded herself softly.

Claude turned around to look at her from where he was kneeling over the body of one of Judith’s men. “What was that?”

Byleth looked up, a little startled. She’d almost forgotten he was here. “It’s - it’s just something my father said once when he taught me how to kill,” she said. He’d only said it the one time because it turned out that Byleth had hardly needed pretty words to harden her soul to fit the mercenary lifestyle. “This has so far been the hardest day of my life.”

“As far as big class reunions go,” Claude mused, closing the eyelids of the Daphnel soldier, “this has got to have been the worst.”

Byleth straightened and took time to examine the lord who was whispering words of parting over the deceased.  _ You’re everything I remember you to be, and I’m changed _ . Wasn’t that what he had said to her when she’d confronted him about his standoffish ways several weeks ago?

But now she wasn’t the same, either. Had she experienced five years’ worth of changes in a single battle?

Her head was hurting. She sighed and approached Claude, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly. “You fought well today.”

His returned grin had no mirth in it and he placed his own hand atop hers.  _ Warm _ , Byleth thought.  _ His hands were warm and had a pulse that was still beating _ . “Feels a bit like the world’s collapsing, doesn’t it?”

“If I had to fall off the ends of the earth with someone, I’m glad it’s with you,” Byleth said.

“Come now,” Claude said as he stood, his grin taking on a teasing tilt. Her hand, placed upon his shoulder, slid down to his arm - but Claude didn’t remove his grip on her. “You already fell off the ends of the earth once, and  _ I’m _ glad you didn’t take me with you. Mostly because I wouldn’t have survived that cliff you described.” He shook his head. “Though I’d prefer it if you didn’t give it a repeat performance.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m on a cliff and looking down,” Byleth said dryly, even though she felt like she were there already - standing on a metaphorical cliff, staring down at the bodies of those she’s killed; those she let die; those she couldn’t save.  _ Jeralt. Spades. Manuela. Ferdinand _ .  _ Dimitri _ .

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll make it through this, won’t we?”

_ How can we carry on after that? _ \- Words that might haunt her forever.

“Of course,” Byleth said.

“Of course,” Claude repeated softly, as if he were telling his heart the same thing. “Of course.”

* * *

Ashe’s book remained in a saddlebag for the rest of the silent journey home, and the first sight of Garreg Mach’s silhouette peeking above the treeline evoked less relief and homecoming than it did a muted sense of incredulity. How could the monastery still stand tall when it felt like the world had been upended?

Felix hadn’t spoken at all since Ingrid and Sylvain had left for their respective territories. Ignatz’s gaze was permanently downcast, while Hilda stared straight ahead with the blankest gaze Byleth had ever seen on her. Lysithea’s jaw was set rigidly to the point that it looked painful, and Lorenz had briefly dipped out after saying “I cannot abide this” to undoubtedly release his emotions in some manner that he probably deemed too common for noble sensibilities. And Marianne kept taking in breath as if she wanted to say something, only to release it slowly as all words evaded her.

They passed the Gatekeeper - “Greetings, Professor!” he said brightly, and it was so dissonant from how she felt. Whereas his cheer usually made her smile, it felt jagged and sharp today. “Nothing to report - ”

_ Nothing to report _ . Nothing, as always. And while it should have been good news to hear that the people in the monastery were safe in their absence, Byleth couldn’t help but feel a little bitter and wistful at their naivety.

“ - except that Shamir had something to say to you on your return, I believe. She caught a suspicious character skulking around outside the monastery walls, says he knows you.”

Byleth paused.  _ Suspicious character? _

“That’s right,” Shamir confirmed, approaching them through the entrance. She had been left in charge while Seteth and Byleth went to collect what ultimately ended up being fewer additional troops than originally anticipated, thanks to the casualties on the way back. “Says you call him  _ Fidget _ . Odd name to bear, though after having interrogated him, I see where it comes from.” She extended her hand. “A friend of yours, perhaps?”


	14. T is for Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The war is hard on us commoners. Spades joined a bandit gang to get by, and I fell into - ” Fidget swallowed. “I fell into something much worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaaaay StealthFlower for cleaning up this chapter!! Thank you!

Shamir was keeping Fidget in the prisoners’ rooms, just in case - she had no qualms with offending potential friends,  _ especially _ when the alternative risked lax security around a strange man with dubious claims.

“You need assistance in dealing with him?” Shamir asked.

“I think we’ll make do, thank you,” Byleth said lightly. Shamir nodded and left, and once Byleth was confident the sniper was out of earshot, she turned to Claude. “You think it’s him, don’t you?”

He didn’t need more context. Claude replied, “You think so too.”

Byleth quirked her lips and said, “See right through me, don’t you?”

“That’s  _ my _ line,” Claude said, though his mock outrage didn’t have the same emphasis that it usually did. Instead, he just sounded…  _ tired. _

The key ring jangled as he moved to unlock the door to the judgment room. On the other side would be Fidget, who would have already been brought over from the cells.

She’d had the whole trip back to think about all the signs she’d ignored around Fidget’s behavior as of late. She knew there was something off - the grim smiles, the pessimistic outlook, his fixation on her hair color - but she never thought that Fidget would be capable of wreaking havoc of such  _ magnitude _ \- to have set in motion the battles they’d faced in Ailell.

Because somehow the enemy had caught wind of their plans and intercepted them, and the only person Byleth could think of that might have deduced their plans at all was Fidget.

Who  _ was _ he? And what sort of influence did he  _ have _ ? She’d always liked the underground in part for the anonymity it afforded its patrons. It seemed this time, it had backfired on her.

“I’ll follow your lead,” Byleth said. Between the two of them, Claude was better at extracting information from people. Byleth’s tactics were fairly elementary in comparison: say nothing and stare at the target until they couldn’t bear the silence anymore and loosened their lips.

Behind the door, Fidget was seated behind a table and dressed in a thin, grey garb that the guards had undoubtedly forced him into. He looked up when he heard them come in and attempted a smile, but it came out weak. And Byleth didn’t know  _ what _ she expected to find, but she certainly didn’t predict that he would look almost as defeated as Byleth felt.

Was it his stay in the prisoners’ rooms that had drained him so, or was it something else?

Claude didn’t bother taking a seat, so Byleth remained standing as well, one step behind him. His arms were folded, and his stance was wide. Dressed now in full regalia, Claude cut an impressive and imposing figure - nothing at all like the nonchalant and suave tea merchant he had pretended to be before. If the way Fidget flinched slightly was anything to go by, he was probably thinking the same.

“You knew who we were,” Claude stated.

Fidget’s head jerked down and then up again, and Byleth wasn’t sure if it was just his twitch acting back up or a poorly executed nod. “I did,” he said, his voice a little raspy, and his eyes darted towards Byleth. “Once you came back with green hair.”

“And you knew we intended to march to Ailell,” Claude said. He didn’t raise his voice, but he instead clipped his words. “And sent an army to obliterate us.”

Fidget winced. “It was the Pegasus Moon. The only place in Fódlan that  _ wasn’t _ freezing to death was Ailell. Call it an educated guess. But I didn’t -  _ obliterate _ , that’s such a harsh word - ”

Claude’s fists slammed on the table as he loomed over Fidget. “Who did you tell?”

Despite all the times that Byleth had seen Claude at work dancing around nobles and charming high-ranking officials, she’d never seen him use intimidation tactics so bluntly. His threats were usually veiled, hidden coyly beneath seemingly innocuous banter. Maybe he’d opted for something more direct this time as a way to unleash a fury for what Fidget had put them through, or maybe this was just how he handled interrogating prisoners and traitors.

Either way, watching this new, harsh persona that Claude had adopted was  _ strange _ , like listening to a familiar melody being played in a minor key. At the same time, it made something flare in the pit of her stomach that she didn’t understand.

“No one in the underground,” Fidget said quickly. “Just - ” He broke off, looking incredibly flustered. His eyes almost desperately flickered over to Byleth, and his wrist twitched.

Unbidden and sudden, images flashed through Byleth’s mind - 

_ Wrists with no pulse… blood of our students spilt by our own hands… _

Her mouth tasted like ash. This man before her seemed so small, and yet he’d wrought tragedy upon them. He deserved punishment, Byleth thought resolutely. He should suffer as they had been made to suffer.

But then, why did he come  _ here _ , to a monastery full of the very people he betrayed _ ? _

“The war is hard on us commoners. Spades joined a bandit gang to get by, and I fell into - ” Fidget swallowed. “I fell into something much worse.”

Byleth walked over to stand behind Fidget, who threw a somewhat nervous glance over his shoulder as she positioned herself. “The Empire,” Claude concluded, his face shadowed.

Fidget looked up at Claude briefly and then shook his head. “No - well, they’re a part of it - but the whole, it’s so much worse.” His voice dropped, even though there was no one in the room but them. “I heard - Empress Edelgard’s right hand man - the dreary looking fellow -  _ Hector? _ ”

Claude maintained an unamused mask. “Hubert,” he supplied.

“Yes, Hubert, that’s the one,” Fidget nodded, and he cast wayward glances one more - as if to reaffirm that they  _ were _ the only ones in the room - and lowered his voice down to a whisper. “I heard him call them  _ those who slither in the dark _ .”

* * *

“He’s either being honest,” Claude said, “or he’s trying to double cross us.”

They’d left Fidget to his own devices in the interrogation room as they stepped out to discuss what they’d learned.  _ Those who slither in the dark… _ such a lengthy name, Byleth thought, and it didn’t roll off the tongue at all. What sort of name was that?

“He hasn’t asked anything of us, though,” Byleth said, frowning.

“He doesn’t have to,” Claude said. “Feed us a bit of false information, win our trust… he could be in it for anything.”

He’d come here to follow a rumor before he’d been caught, Fidget had claimed. A subterranean ruin called  _ Abyss _ that spread its roots beneath the monastery and ran its own insular society whose members never mingled with the outside world. Unlike the underground with its speakeasies and its smuggling rings and its gambling tables where patrons would flit in and out like shadows, Abyss - according to rumor - had inhabitants whose entire lives were contained within its walls.

Byleth had never heard of it, though Fidget had insisted it was hardly a well-kept secret among the more unsavory crowds. “Plenty of people know of it, though little beyond that,” he had admitted. “Everyone knows at least one or two people who’ve headed that way and disappeared from their lives - ‘cause you see the thing is, once you go in, you don’t come back out. At least, so far as I can see.”

“Then why go?” Claude had inquired - to which Fidget had explained, “It’s not your common petty thief who packs their bags up and heads to Abyss. It’s those criminals who have toed the line too long and pushed too far. The ones that  _ need _ to disappear to survive.” He had let out a shaky breath. “You hear about those fellows - and never good things, either. Always figured you got to have led a pretty rotten life to need to abandon it entirely, but - I think - I think I might need to head there, myself.”

Fidget had come to Garreg Mach to run away.

And if she were honest - that even though she  _ wanted _ to see some divine punishment served to the man who’d forced her hands to spill blood she never wanted spilled - she believed that Fidget was too afraid to be scheming against them now. That he was just a pawn, and he was the exact type of person that they were fighting to protect.

_ A pawn who had sown a field of corpses _ , she thought.

“I think he’s done treacherous things,” Byleth said finally. The words felt heavy in her mouth, and it was hard to get them out. “But I also think he’s being honest. That he hates the situation he’s in, and he’s terrified.”

Claude watched her, long and hard. “After all he’s done… you still believe in him,” he said.

It was unfair, she thought. So  _ fucking _ unfair. Unfair for them, and - if she could successfully compartmentalize her emotions from reason - unfair for Fidget as well.

How had things ended up so  _ broken? _

Claude sighed - one of those long ones that tapered slowly into silence. “To be honest, that sounds just like you,” he admitted. “The type to listen and to forgive. I’ve never known you to turn away anyone who came before you needing help.”

Except she  _ had _ , Byleth thought. She’d given up on Dimitri and let him die, and she’d never seen anyone who needed  _ more _ help than that husk of a man.

And that made it hurt all the more when Claude said, “It’s one of the things that I - that I  _ appreciate _ about you.”

_ Don’t say things like that _ , she wanted to say. She wasn’t whatever saint that Claude was describing, and she wasn’t the altruistic archbishop that Rhea wanted her to be. She was simply a  _ soldier _ , someone who did what she had to do.

“So now what?” Claude said, running a hand through his hair. “ _ Those who slither in the dark… _ Well, that certainly  _ sounds _ like Hubert, so perhaps there’s at least some truth to what Fidget’s saying.”

A cult of subterranean people with advanced technology and a mind to reclaim the surface by destroying those upon it. And, Fidget had continued,  _ Edelgard _ had thrown her lot with theirs and was among their highest ranks - not to mention the Kingdom representative, Cornelia. And if all of this were true - which seemed  _ crazy _ to her - it was hardly a problem for just Fodlan, Byleth thought. There would be no telling the limits to the greed of the subterranean warfolk and if it would extend into neighboring countries like Dagda and Sreng and Almyra.

How could something so big have been kept a secret for all this time?

“We verify what we can,” Byleth said finally. “We’ll check to see if this so-called Abyss really does exist. If that’s real, then we’ll have to address the possibility that  _ those who slither _ is a true threat as well.”

Claude nodded, running a hand along the thin line of his beard. “We can’t let Fidget go, either. If this cult exists, we’ll need him for information,” Claude said.

And intimidation tactics wouldn’t work forever. “We’d need him to feel safe here,” Byleth said slowly. “Like he belongs.”

“What he’s done - only the two of us can know,” Claude said.

And it all felt so wrong. There should have been  _ justice _ served for the sake of all those who perished needlessly at the battles in Ailell, and here they were, scheming a compromise with the very person who had  _ betrayed _ them.

Those who had died would have to wait a little longer for their justice, and it was so  _ fucking _ wrong.

* * *

They decided that they would spread the word after the vigil mourning the loss of their former classmates, professors, and the unnamed soldiers that they didn’t know but had lives of their own.

In Manuela’s memory, Lorenz recited a poem of his own design. Byleth didn’t even realize that he  _ wrote _ poetry, but by the time he reached his verse of “As my mind clings to desperate thoughts, here it comes - Horsebow Moon and summer’s end,” half of the crowd was in tears.

Marianne had asked to share a few words to honor Ferdinand despite her aversion to attention, and her voice shook terribly as she did so - but it only added to the sentiment. “Ferdinand once asked me, that rather than mourn things the way they are, is it not better to accept them and move forward?” she said, trembling - and her words were spoken too quietly, and yet, they were loud enough against the silence. “He believed that we were all born with a purpose in life. He is the reason I looked for my purpose and found it here. I do not think that he would have wanted us to mourn him, but rather - remember him for the purpose he served for himself and the purpose he served in our lives.” And by the time she was done, the other half of the crowd wept as well.

As others took their turn to commemorate the others that fell, Byleth could only watch, thinking that she had once been their professor. She had once been the one to push and prod and clean up their messes, like when Lorenz had offended too many women in his pursuits of a spouse and she needed to intervene, or when Marianne had come up to her with the papers to drop out of the academy because the girl wanted to avoid being around people  _ that badly _ . And even if she maintained a stoic mask, Byleth felt like  _ she  _ was now the one who had lost control and her once-students were picking up the pieces - Lorenz with his deeply moving poem about verdant rains healing wounds and Marianne giving an actual  _ speech _ . In front of  _ people. _

And maybe this was the answer to Manuela’s question.  _ How can we carry on after that? _ Byleth had been determined to find an answer  _ for _ her Golden Deer, but perhaps her Deer would turn out to be the reason she could carry on at all.

When everyone had had their turn to speak, Byleth entered the center of the circle, where three pyres had been constructed. “For those no longer with us,” Byleth said, lighting the first flame. “For those who loved them. And for those who love them still.”

She stepped back to watch the three fires cackling in their dance, a thick black smoke wafting to the sky. According to religious practices, the smoke carried their messages to the heavens where the dead could receive them. When she’d first heard of the tradition, her father had caught her trying to set fire to the innkeeper’s cherry blossom tree. “What in the world are you  _ doing _ ?” he had demanded before scooping her away. “And who gave you that  _ firestarter? _ ”

“I want to talk to the dead,” she had said with all the innocence of a child. “I want to know what combat sequences did them in, so that I can learn them.”

Her father had let out a huff of  _ something _ that couldn’t make up its mind on whether it was a laugh or a sigh. “So you tried to ignite a  _ tree _ ,” he had said, shaking his head. “You know all that stuff about smoke sending missives to the dead - it’s just religious nonsense. It doesn’t  _ do _ anything, besides make the people who are still alive feel a bit better about themselves. I tell you not to bother with the Church of Seiros teachings for a reason, By.”

A hand caught hers and squeezed it - and just as swiftly as it came, the hand slipped away. Beside her, Claude was watching her grimly, with the light of the fire reflected in his eyes.

_ It’s just religious nonsense _ , Byleth thought to herself as the smoke from the three pyres fanned out in the evening breeze. And perhaps it didn’t do anything, as her father had said. But if it  _ could _ make someone feel better, then Byleth thought, that still counted as  _ something _ .

* * *

And time marched ever forward.

You would think, Byleth thought dryly, that as someone with the power to  _ rewind time _ , she would have more of it. And yet, with the war looming on their shoulders, there never seemed to be enough time for  _ anything _ , let alone time to rest and time to mourn.

It was time to proceed with their plan.

“This is Fidget,” Byleth introduced to her assembled crew. “He’s been scouting information and will be working with us more closely now.”

Fidget had been initially terrified by the concept of working for the opposing faction but had ultimately agreed to it - not that he particularly had much choice. “At least it’ll ease my conscience before they find out and kill me,” he had said, but not begrudgingly - instead, he spoke as if he’d accepted the inevitably of his death, which was a can of worms that Byleth would wait until  _ later _ to open.

“He’s informed us of a community living beneath the monastery - ” Claude started, but then Hilda had swiftly interrupted - “Wait, are you talking about  _ Abyss? _ ”

Byleth stared. So did Claude. Fidget had said that Abyss was common knowledge among the skulking crowds, and Hilda was as far from that descriptor as could possibly be. How in the world…?

“You know about it?” Claude asked.

“Well, my  _ brother _ used to tell me stories about it when he came back from the academy.  _ I _ thought he’d just made them all up to  _ scare _ me,” Hilda said, seeming equally surprised herself.

But that only served to make Claude more frustrated. “Holst knew - how did  _ I _ not know…” he muttered.

Byleth could’ve rolled her eyes. This was hardly the time for Claude to address the injuries to his ego about belatedly learning of secrets that had long since been discovered by others. “Regardless,” Byleth said over him, “we’ll be investigating Abyss at some point in the future. We’ll keep you all informed.”

If  _ Holst _ knew about the Abyss, it was likely a real thing - which meant they had to figure out how to bring the story of  _ those who slither _ to light.

They hadn’t expected that one of their own would be the first to vouch for the rumors Fidget brought forward. Wouldn’t it be rich, Byleth thought to herself, if one of her Golden Deer would just conveniently have more information to back the claims of the other subterranean clan with their own brand of superior technology and experimental magic?

She doubted it. The very idea of their existence seemed too far fetched to be true.

At least, so Byleth hoped.

* * *

But having Fidget around proved to be more trouble than Byleth had originally anticipated, especially as he settled into his new role as a valued informant. It was almost annoying, how smoothly Fidget fell into the natural flow of things at the monastery. A vindictive side of her had privately hoped he’d struggle to adjust - a small penance to pay for all the heartbreak he’d caused - but instead, he wholly committed to his new position and his new lifestyle, even helping out with chores around the monastery when he could.

And that was hardly something to fault him for - but  _ still _ . 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Fidget said to her over a meal that they were sharing with the group at large, “why don’t you announce your relationship? I’m sure stories of a romance between the stand-in archbishop and the stand _ ing _ Alliance leader would inspire the masses during these times.”

Byleth choked on her soup.

_ Shit. _

She really should’ve spoken to Fidget about what was appropriate mealtime conversation and what topics should have been left in the underground. Why had she been so obtuse to not foresee a conversation like this up ahead?

Right. Because she’d been more concerned about the bombs he’d dropped about two separate underground cults that she had never heard of before, one potentially lurking right beneath their  _ feet _ .

“Wait, what?” Hilda said, eyes wide. “Your  _ relationship? _ ”

It would have been comical, the way everyone at their table was turning their heads between Claude and herself, looking for a reaction. It  _ would _ have been, if it had been for  _ any other reason _ .

Fidget picked up that something had gone wrong. “Did - what - was that a secret?”

“That was a  _ cover _ story,” Byleth said shortly. “There is no romantic relationship.”

Byleth refused to look at Claude, though she felt him stiffen beside her - no doubt feeling just as uncomfortable by the whole ordeal just as she was. Fidget looked between the two of them behind a furrowed brow. “Huh,” he muttered. “Could’a fooled me.”

“Fooling you  _ was _ the point,” Byleth said.

“Hang on a second,” Leonie said loudly, pointing her fork directly at Byleth. “What did you mean by  _ cover _ story? What were you covering?”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. She had walked into that one too, hadn’t she? She was seriously off her game as of late, and she needed to resolve this  _ now _ .

Byleth closed her eyes and counted backwards from five.

_ Five… four... _

She heard Claude say cheekily, “Well, we were covering our identities, of course.”

_ Three… two... _

“ _ Obviously _ ,” Lysithea chimed in with such attitude that Byleth could imagine the girl rolling her eyes. “But  _ why _ were you covering your identities?”

_ One... _

Byleth breathed in deeply before reinserting herself back into the situation, and she saw Fidget across the table with tightly sealed lips and wide eyes watching her back, waiting for her answer.

“In the academy years, I would take occasionally Claude to the Garreg Mach underground to earn supplemental income for our class,” Byleth explained, taking great pains to make sure her voice was even and measured and to  _ not _ reveal her great frustration. “Or did you think that the Church of Seiros funded our tea times?”

So maybe she wasn’t  _ totally _ successful at keeping that frustration at bay. But honestly,  _ this _ ? Over all the things they  _ should _ be talking about - the war, Abyss, or… anything else, really.

“So that’s where you and Claude would disappear off to in the evenings,” Hilda said, tapping her lip in thought. “I always assumed - I mean… I’ve always  _ wondered _ .”

Now, Byleth hadn’t ever been the type to be concerned about gossip. She always firmly believed that she knew herself better than anyone else and no one’s idle chatter could change the truth.

But at the same time, Byleth most certainly did  _ not _ want to know what Hilda had been assuming all those years. For once, Byleth was relieved that Sothis was no longer here with her. She loathed to think of how much amusement the goddess would’ve derived from Byleth’s current predicament.

“I had no idea that you had taken such pains to see to our comforts as students,” Lorenz proclaimed. “On my honor as a noble, I shall repay the favor tenfold and treat you to tea - ”

_ Oh heavens, no. _

How had the conversation derailed into something so horribly wrong - and so quickly?

She retracted her thoughts. Bring back the conversation about her and Claude’s alleged relationship. So far she’d managed to avoid tea times since her five-year timeskip, and she would prefer to  _ keep it that way. _

“That’s quite all right, Lorenz,” Byleth said quickly. When Lorenz started to look rather indignant - no doubt ready to  _ insist _ that he send a full case of premium tea leaves her way - she amended, “While I appreciate the thought, I had those tea times to get to know each of you better. Any talk of repayment would only cheapen those memories.”

Claude chuckled beside her. And maybe what she said didn’t really make sense, it hardly mattered, for Lorenz looked a little more appeased.

“I’m impressed by the resourcefulness,” Leonie commended. “I did find it curious how we always had tea to spare after fixing our weapons and hiring battalions. It’s not a particularly cheap commodity.” She paused. “But how  _ did _ you earn the money?”

“Teach’s tactical prowess doesn’t stop at the battlefield,” Claude said. “She’s been sweeping poker winnings since - since, well, how long have you been playing poker, anyways?”

But Byleth couldn’t answer, because Raphael’s sudden booming laughter swallowed all conversation. On the other side of the dining hall, Byleth saw the cook jump a little before staring crossly at their table.

“Please, Raphael,” Lorenz said disdainfully as he dabbed a napkin to his cheek where a bit of food and spit had sprayed onto him, “feel free to finish chewing before you open your mouth.”

But Raphael was too busy wheezing out the last of his cackles to care for Lorenz’s etiquette lesson. “All this time, we thought that you two - ” he managed to get out before falling into another round of laughter, though this time it was a little more subdued. “And you were just playing cards - ”

Dear  _ Sothis _ , could she just Divine Pulse to a time before this conversation happened and circumvent it altogether? Even  _ Raphael _ had assumed - ? The man barely cared for anything outside of training and eating!

If only Divine Pulse could purge her memory as it wound back through time.

“That’s enough,” Byleth said sharply, and she hoped to the heavens above that her face wasn’t flushed. “Finish up eating. We’re all going to explore the  _ other _ Garreg Mach underground after lunch, and given what I’ve heard from Fidget, it has the propensity to be  _ much worse _ .”

Silence fell. Apparently, a table of seasoned war soldiers could still feel reprimanded by an old professor. Byleth felt some sort of smug comfort in that.

“Well, what an  _ Abyss- _ mal end to a fun conversation, wouldn’t you say, Countess?” Fidget said, a grin creeping onto his lips. Evidently, the feeling of shame of being reprimanded did not extend to underground poker acquaintances that had been promoted despite himself to a military informant.  _ Figured _ .

Lysithea groaned. “I thought we only had to deal with those awful jokes from  _ Alois _ ,” she complained.

But, Byleth thought, at least the conversation had moved on.

“So…” Ashe piped up, looking around the table. “How do you play poker, anyways?”

Byleth released a long suffering sigh and touched a hand to her temple.

_ Damn it _ .

* * *

If Byleth could choose how she wanted to approach scouting an underground ruin that housed - according to Fidget - some of the most dangerous criminals Fódlan had to offer, it would be with a focused crew with sharp wits and even sharper blades. Instead, it looked like she was stuck with a tittering crew that was too busy pressing Fidget for stories of Byleth’s and Claude’s underground forays to properly pay attention to their surroundings.

And on some level, Byleth couldn’t fault them. The incredulity of their former house leader and professor having joined forces at gambling tables was perhaps just enough to distract them from the horrors they’d both witnessed and committed at Ailell. It was a relief for them to breathe a bit of levity for once, and so they indulged.

“You see,” Fidget was saying to a rapt audience, “we called him  _ Earl Whetstone _ because - ”

“ _ We? _ ” Claude protested. “If I recall correctly,  _ you _ were the only one who kept calling me  _ whetstone _ \- ”

Hilda shushed him impatiently before prompting Fidget, “ _ Earl? _ But Claude is a  _ duke _ .”

“Well, we didn’t know that,” Fidget said, waving Hilda’s comment aside. “He claimed to be a tea peddler” - and Byleth held her breath, but thankfully Fidget didn’t make any remarks about Almyra - “so we called him  _ Earl Grey _ at first. Turns out he’s more than an earl, but - ” Fidget paused, his eyes narrowing as he turned an accusatory gaze towards Byleth and Claude. “Say, what did you do with all that gold you fleeced off of us, anyways? Did you really spend it all on tea? The riches associated with being a  _ duke _ wasn’t enough to cover that bill?”

Byleth cleared her throat a bit too loudly. Thank the  _ heavens _ that they’d just arrived at the entrance to Abyss that they’d uncovered just yesterday. “We’re here,” she announced, skirting away from Fidget’s question. Because  _ yes _ , she did spend most of that money on tea and tea cakes, much to her chagrin. And the occasional ceremonial sword for Felix, since he didn’t like tea cakes. “I’d like to take this time to remind everyone that we do not know what to expect, so kindly table your conversations for  _ later _ and keep your smarts about you.”

That was enough of an answer anyways for Fidget, who muttered in a voice of wonder, “You  _ did _ spend it all on tea.”

She ignored him. Mostly because she had nothing to say, because she agreed with him - that spending what she did on  _ tea _ was  _ absurd, _ but she was not about to share that.

“Ready your weapons,” she commanded instead, her sword hand already on the hilt of her sword.

Down below, Abyss awaited.


	15. T is for Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What do you say to a date tomorrow evening?”
> 
> “A date,” Byleth repeated, raising an eyebrow.
> 
> “Yes,” he said in that same tone. “I’ll find you after dinner. Don’t make me beg, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to StealthFlower for dealing with my ramblings and fixing up my grammar. I appreciate you!

There was an axe swinging down at her. And it was coming down  _ hard _ .

Byleth spun out of the way of the axe’s arc, coming into range of a swordswoman who seized the opportunity to slash her blade at Byleth. Byleth parried, and a “Right behind you, Teach” from Claude told her that the axeman who’d been coming at her would be taken care of.

She focused on the sword-wielder before her who had a smile toying on her lips.

They’d been almost immediately met with a well-constructed ambush the moment they descended down the steps to Abyss, as if they’d been expected. And to be honest, Byleth wasn’t surprised. If she were running a community underground of Garreg Mach, she would have made it a point to keep a close eye on the monastery’s comings and goings - and not necessarily for any malicious reason, but simply for their own protection. Byleth supposed she might not have been particularly  _ subtle _ in her search for Abyss’ entrance, and whatever scouts they had surely would have noticed.

But Byleth hadn’t had the chance to get two words out in an attempt at diplomacy before the people of Abyss had charged with their lances and their axes and their spellcraft. If anything, they had seemed  _ excited  _ to fight, as if they hadn’t had a good excuse for a brawl in a good long while. Which was wrong, because a ready excuse was waiting just aboveground, and all they had to do was pick a side of the war to fight for. With the losses that both the Empire and the Alliance had experienced, Byleth was sure that neither side could afford to be picky about conducting background checks on new recruits.

And they were certainly talented fighters, if her current opponent was anything to go by. The swordswoman was a slippery one, anticipating almost every one of Byleth’s feints and retaliating with her own ruses. Byleth was able to get a hit on most people she’d faced fairly quickly, so despite the circumstances, the fact that this Abyss warrior evaded her attacks for so long impressed her.

But there was always an opening to be found. This woman seemed to be the calculating type, which meant Byleth just had to switch up her fighting style to throw her off her guard. Byleth moved to feint but then followed through with the attack and finally landed a blow against the adversary’s shoulder. The woman stumbled back, and Byleth pressed forward just as - 

\- just as the woman… sheathed… her sword?  _ What? _

“Well done,” the woman said - and, wait, no, that was a  _ man’s _ voice. The person inside the armor - the person with  _ the longest, thickest eyelashes that Byleth had ever seen _ \- was a man?

She -  _ he _ \- they? - came up to Byleth with all the casual confidence in the world, as if there were no danger to approaching someone he’d just been fighting, someone who still had  _ her _ blade up even while  _ his _ was tucked away. “You must be the archbishop,” he said. “I see you’re as good a fighter as they say.”

Around her, other Abyssian soldiers followed this man’s lead and disengaged as well. Byleth could only stare. “I’m not Rhea,” Byleth said dumbly, still confounded by what had just happened. He’d broken every common sense law that had never been written. Did she miss something?

But the man just chuckled. “A good fighter they said, but they never mentioned how cute you were,” he said almost dryly. “I know you’re not Rhea, but you’re the one she appointed as her successor, no?”

Byleth was too stuck on the first half of his remark to acknowledge the question. What was  _ that _ supposed to mean?

Hilda apparently shared the same thought as she shifted her grip on her axe, even though whoever she’d been facing had long since slunk away. “ _ Cute? _ ” she repeated, darting a quick glance at Claude. Byleth turned to look at Claude too, and he was staring straight at the purple-haired man with his jaw locked tight. But why…? “No one calls the Professor  _ cute _ .”

“Why not? She is,” the man said. He spoke with a lazy drawl full of self-assurance, like he was daring anyone to contradict him. “The name’s Yuri, by the way. I’d been hoping you all would pay us a visit.”

“Well, now we have,” Claude said shortly, and Byleth had to wonder if he knew this Yuri character from somewhere else. It wasn’t like Claude to be so curt to someone he’d just met; typically, strangers were the ones that had to suffer the full force of Claude’s charm. “It’s simply our pleasure to grant you that wish.”

“Consider this me counting my blessings,” Yuri said airily, utterly unphased by Claude’s unusually sarcastic greeting. “Byleth, wasn’t it? Allow me to bend your ear for some time, friend. What do you say to a date tomorrow evening?”

Goddess, the audacity of this man would absolutely  _ inspire _ Sylvain, Byleth thought as she eyed him critically. Here was an unashamedly beautiful man who was an incorrigible flirt, calling her  _ cute _ and asking for  _ dates - _ but Byleth figured she knew better. He was clearly the one in charge of running the show in Abyss and was simply looking for an exchange of confidential information. Except, normal commanders would have said just that, rather than disguise a debriefing as something more romantic. What was Yuri playing at?

“A date,” Byleth repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he said in that same tone that practically invited argument. “I’ll find you after dinner. Don’t make me beg, now.”

“How would you - ” she started, but then she shook her head. “I don’t want to know.” It seemed like Yuri had more than just one close eye on the comings and goings of the monastery. Byleth was certain that she would dislike the reason behind Yuri’s confidence that he could find her so easily, but now - surrounded by both of their troops - was neither the time nor place to confront that issue.

“Clever of you,” Yuri commended, and his laughter was almost musical. “I’ll see you tomorrow, friend,” he continued as he turned away, and his crew withdrew with him.

_ Friend _ . She’d only ever been called that by one other person before, and the way he said it was so different from how Claude said it. Yuri used the word like leverage - as if to reinforce the feeling of good intention, to indicate that he harbored no ill will in whatever game of politics they were about to play. He didn’t say it as a friend really would, as Claude would.

“Suppose we should head back, too,” Byleth said, turning to Claude - and she was startled to find a heat in his returned stare, and that his grip on his bow had turned his knuckles white.

She had half expected him to protest. She had figured that the discovery of Abyss would be tantalizing to someone as curious as he, and to turn around so soon after happening upon it would induce a special kind of agony. But instead Claude just said, “Suppose it’s for the best.” And he turned around and gave the command to return back to the monastery.

“That brawler,” Hilda said, breaking Byleth’s train of thought of what must have distracted Claude into being so amenable about leaving the place he’d been so eagerly anticipating. “He didn’t look familiar to anyone else, did he? I wasn’t able to get a close look, but I can’t help but think that I know him from somewhere.”

But no one was able to help Hilda out, so she just shrugged and said, “Oh well. I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually. Anyways,” she said, her tone suddenly business-like. “Fidget, what were you saying about where the nickname Earl Whetstone came from?”

* * *

“I wonder what Yuri wants to discuss with you,” Leonie said, leaning on one gloved hand. “That whole battle felt like it was a test for something.”

Byleth nodded in agreement. She had thought the same. She’d spent too much time with Claude to fail to identify something crafty in the works.

“Maybe he just actually wants to date the Professor,” Hilda pitched, giggling to herself. “I mean, who  _ wouldn’t _ ? He was right about the Professor being  _ cute _ . It’s all so  _ romantic. _ ”

Never before in her life had Byleth been described as cute. She’d gotten a few other complimentary adjectives in her lifetime, and some insulting ones, too. There had been a village boy who had called her  _ dough-faced _ once when she was a child, and she had thrown rocks at him until he apologized. It hadn’t taken many rocks to change his mind.

But  _ cute _ ? Byleth didn’t know how to feel about it. She didn’t particularly identify with the word, and it was such a foreign concept. After all, she was the Ashen Demon. Demons weren’t  _ cute _ .

“I thought  _ you _ were the one who said that no one gets to call the Professor cute,” Ignatz pointed out, but Hilda just waved his comment away.

“Just because we don’t call her cute doesn’t mean she  _ isn’t _ . Right, Mr. Leader Man?” Hilda said - and to Byleth’s surprise, Claude flushed. Apparently he was just as susceptible to being teased, despite having been the one to insinuate a romantic relationship as an impromptu underground cover.

“Watch it,” Claude warned instead, and Byleth thought she caught a glint of a challenge in his eye. The trip to Abyss must have really shaken him up, because never before had Claude passed up on an opportunity to tease her. “You’re bleeding all over the place.”

“What?” Hilda said, looking down at herself. “I am not!”

“He means your cards, Hilda,” Byleth said patiently.

Leonie had taken it as a personal insult that she hadn’t been informed about something that Byleth was apparently very skilled in. “I bet I’d be good at cards too if I practiced,” she had said, and now Byleth was obliged to sit down and teach the rest of her students how to play poker.

Well, most of her students. Felix had proclaimed that the whole exercise was a waste of time and had disappeared into the training hall, to no one’s great surprise.

“You should probably fold,” Claude said, settling back. “And then just sit back and look pretty. Should come naturally to you, I imagine.”

“Wow, that’s  _ rude _ to call someone out like that!” Hilda protested, but she threw her cards facedown on the table anyway. “I was saying, it’s just a  _ date _ . I’m sure the Professor has been on  _ plenty _ of dates before.”

Where did Hilda think she found the time to date between having to prep for classes, holding lectures and seminars, and her unofficial second job earning change for tea times? “I haven’t.”

Hilda’s jaw dropped. Byleth supposed that it should be flattering that Hilda was so shocked that someone like Byleth could have such a dry spell in the realm of romance. “You  _ haven’t? _ ”

The next card flipped - a three of spades. “You’ll want to bid,” Byleth told Ignatz, counting out the pebbles they were using in place of currency.

Fidget looked at Byleth and then turned to Leonie, who he was shadowing. “You should raise.”

Leonie frowned, looking at her hand once more. “Why?”

“Can’t say why now, it’ll give too much away,” Fidget said.

Hilda, who was bored by the game now that her hand was discarded, veered the conversation back. “What do you mean you haven’t been on dates?”

_ Really _ , Byleth thought, a little exasperated. Her love life was  _ not _ this interesting.

“I believe it,” Leonie piped up, pushing her pebbles into the middle of the table. “I mean, her father was  _ Captain Jeralt _ . How many men would dare to court the daughter of the  _ Blade Breaker? _ ”

“Maybe some of them did try but Teach just never noticed,” Claude said lightly, leaning back into his hands.

There  _ was _ that fling she had with that one merc who didn’t survive a job, but Byleth decided that wasn’t a story worth sharing at this point in time. Maybe it was better to just let them believe she had no experience in the realm of romance - which, to be fair, wasn’t too far off from the truth.

“That seems in line with what I’ve seen,” Fidget said - and was  _ he _ getting on her case now, too? How much of her had he seen, anyways? Most of what he knew was what she put forward in the  _ underground _ . “I mean, this Yuri person asked you for a date as bluntly as possible, and you  _ still _ don’t believe it could actually be a date.”

And maybe that was a good point - given that it was made by someone who thought she and Claude were in a relationship until just earlier in the day. But the circumstances still indicated that Yuri wanted anything but a date, she believed. There was a lot to learn of someone from their fighting style, and Yuri’s was full of feints and tricks. This had to be some sort of feint as well.

“Well, Professor, I will help you prepare for your date,” Hilda decided with finality. “Ooh, maybe we can pin your hair up, show off the slope of your neck - ”

“Teach just said that she didn’t think that it would be a real date,” Claude said flatly. “I think she should just wear her usual armor.”

Hilda opened her mouth but then closed it again, looking deflated. “All right, fine.  _ Fine _ .” She played with her ponytail, combing her fingers through it. “But if the Professor wants my help, then I’ll help.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Hilda,” Byleth said as she motioned for Ignatz to call the bet. “So, about that seminar I mentioned before that I’d like you to lead - ”

“Ugh,  _ Professor _ , you _ know  _ that’s not what I meant - ”

The only thing that cut through Hilda’s whine was Claude’s laughter, and Byleth was relieved to hear it - because in that laughter, Claude sounded more like himself.

* * *

She ended up wearing her usual armor as Claude had recommended, because that’s what she would have worn to any meeting with another commander. And it wasn’t exactly like she was going to get dolled up when their appointment was at the  _ superbly _ precise time of  _ “tomorrow after dinner _ .” What, was she supposed to wander the monastery in a dress and a face full of make-up waiting for Yuri to show up for something she was certain  _ wasn’t _ a date?

If anything, Byleth had thought that this would be a great time to perform a test of her own. Clearly Yuri had tracked her well enough to be confident in his ability to find her at his leisure. Well.

So Byleth had decided to switch up her after dinner routine - and that was how she ended up accompanying Hilda and Lorenz to choir practice for the first time since… well, for the first time since  _ ever _ .

Byleth didn’t believe in false humility. She knew what she was good at, and she knew what she was awful at - like  _ singing _ . Lorenz had invited her to join him in the cathedral to sing praises to the goddess after Byleth expressed an intent to “try something new,” and she had stupidly agreed before his words really registered. 

It had only occurred to her exactly what she had consented to when Claude - who had spent the whole dinner unusually quiet - had begun to chuckle. “I’ve never heard you sing, Teach, but I bet you have the voice of a  _ goddess _ ,” Claude had said, tossing in a wink for good measure. She had thought about dragging his ass along with her to choir practice just for that, and perhaps he could tell, because he had slipped away a little too quickly after that.

“ _ Mi-mi-mi-mi-mi - _ ” Lorenz started, massaging his vocal chords gently with his fingers before clearing his throat loudly. “There seems to be something wrong with my voice - “

Hilda leaned over and giggled, whispering, “He says that  _ every week _ .”

Byleth just nodded, feeling conspicuously out of her element. Maybe she could sit here in silence and pretend to sing. No one would notice it if she mouthed the words to tunes she didn’t know, right? Was it even  _ appropriate _ for her to sing songs proclaiming the goddess’s goodness and might? Given that Sothis was a part of her, it seemed rather narcissistic.

“Glory to the wisdom of the goddess,” Byleth read from the song sheet slowly. “Blessed be the meek and the modest?”

She fought to keep from sounding too skeptical. If she had any blessings to spare at the moment, Byleth certainly wouldn’t spend them on the meek and the modest. There was an ongoing  _ war _ at the moment, and she would rather dole these hypothetical blessings upon those who might help her  _ end  _ it.

She ought to show this to Claude, Byleth thought errantly. See what he made of these lyrics. 

“ _ Ooh _ , that’s one of my favorites,” Hilda said, looking over Byleth’s shoulder. “Don’t you think it would work well with a cute dance to go alongside it?”

“Hilda, the song is about humility in the face of someone as altruistic and wise as the goddess,” Lorenz scoffed, indignant. “Pairing it with a dance would  _ hardly _ send the appropriate message.”

Byleth privately found it ironic that Lorenz could lecture anyone about the art of humility, but before she could lightly reprimand him, Hilda used a different technique for reducing Lorenz to stutters. “Oh,  _ Lorenz _ ,” Hilda sighed in dramatic mournfulness. “Are you saying you  _ don’t _ want to see me dance before you? You really know how to break a girl’s heart.”

“I - that is not what I - simply put, I did not mean - ”

Byleth resisted touching a hand to her temple. Switching up her routine had been a  _ terrible _ idea born more out of defiance than anything else, and she wasn’t so stubborn as to commit to it. She needed to find a way to excuse herself,  _ now _ .

“I believe I - ” Byleth started delicately before she caught a glimpse of lavender hair by the cathedral entrance. Had Yuri found her anyways? Did he perhaps follow her since she’d had dinner, or had he simply chanced to look for her here? How long had he been lurking there while she had been too distracted by her self-inflicted predicament to notice?

“Professor?” Lorenz prompted, when she fell silent.

This was her chance to swallow her pride and escape, Byleth realized. What kind of test did she think this would serve as, anyways? He’d clearly tracked her down regardless.

Regathering her wits, Byleth said quickly, “Thank you for allowing me to join you, but it seems that it’s time for my appointment with Abyss.”

“You mean your  _ date _ ,” Hilda said, giggling behind a hand. “You sure you don’t want to make him wait on you a little? After all, he  _ was _ awfully presumptuous.”

Lorenz shook his head in agreement, clicking his tongue. “Such shameful audacity to demand a date from you as he did. Truly a showcase of behaviour most uncouth,” he said - so he had either since learned from his school days when Byleth had to regularly reprimand him for harassing women into dining with him, or he had conveniently forgotten about his early courtship attempts. Byleth hoped it was the former.

“It’s  _ not _ a date,” Byleth said firmly for what felt like the millionth time. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

She shuffled out of the pew - jostling about six pairs of knees on the way out, which made her escape less than elegant. No matter. An escape was an escape.

“No need for you to cut your practice short on my account,” Yuri said when she approached him. “I was looking forward to hearing you sing.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Byleth said swiftly, maintaining her composure. “I’m sure what you have to say is far more important. After all, time is of the essence. The war beyond these walls stops for no one.”

* * *

Yuri had inquired if there was anywhere she’d like to take a walk to, and Byleth had faltered. With Claude, private meetings had been conducted in her room - and maybe it was the fact that she didn’t know Yuri well at all, or maybe it was the fact that everyone kept using the word  _ date _ around this meeting - but regardless of the underlying reason, bringing Yuri to her bedroom seemed like an unquestionably bad idea. And she did not trust Yuri nearly enough to suggest going anywhere in the Abyss.

They ended up strolling along the edge of the Sealed Forest until Yuri suddenly pulled up short, stopping in his tracks. He turned to face her, with one of his hands hovering daintily by his cheekbone.

While Byleth had room for improvement when it came to the verbal arts,  _ body language _ was something she understood naturally. Yuri never crossed his arms, she noticed. Instead, they were always open, inviting conversation and - Byleth imagined - inviting  _ secrets _ .

“So, friend,” Yuri began airily, “what roped you into the war? A quest for power? The pursuit of peace? A nostalgia for your mercenary days, perhaps?”

_ Definitely not a date _ , Byleth thought to herself. That was too controversial an opening icebreaker for someone approaching a romantic interest. “The duty of responsibility,” she responded. “These are my students who are commanding the war. It’s my obligation to help see it cleaned up.”

Even though it had already forced her hand against some of those students.

Byleth forcibly refocused her attention on the pair of lilac eyes before her, the ones that were too sharp for her liking. She couldn’t dwell on memories of the Ailell battles now.

“Is that responsibility,” Yuri supposed, “or loyalty?”

She hadn’t thought of it that way before. “Both.” Because there was also her promise to Claude, that she’d see this through  _ with _ him.

With all of her Golden Deer, really.

Yuri chuckled to himself, running the back of a finger along the edge of his jawline. Heavens, he really was  _ pretty _ , almost frustratingly so.

“You’re not one to need buttering up, so I’ll cut to the chase,” he said, extending his hand. “This war, and the monastery falling to ruin, has not been kind to Abyss. I’ve stayed to watch over it all these years, keeping it from falling to chaos, but even so... we’ve lost many.”

_ That was fast _ , Byleth thought, surprised. She must have said something to appease a worry of his for him to delve so quickly to the point at hand. Again she was reminded of Claude, who hid probing questions behind enigmatic smiles.

“You want to secure my promise to protect the people of Abyss,” Byleth guessed.

“Yes,” Yuri confirmed. “I know many of them have… less than honorable reputations, but they’re people all the same.  _ My _ people.” She caught a note of pride in that emphasis, betraying a love for this community of his. Maybe that had been what he wanted to hear earlier - that she respected the laws of loyalty as much as he. “In exchange - ”

“ - you’ll lend your support for our cause in this war?” Byleth surmised, arching an eyebrow.

Yuri chuckled. “You’re about as clever as they come,” he praised - but not before clarifying, “Excepting me, of course.”

_ Clever _ wasn’t how Byleth would describe herself. That word better fitted Claude than it ever would fit her. But she was smart enough not to downplay her own capabilities in front of someone she’d just met, so she said, “How many fighters are in your ranks?”

“Not many, admittedly - but if we had enough, we’d be able to protect ourselves,” Yuri said candidly before his lips split into a slight smirk. “I can’t give you a squadron to rival the Knights of Seiros, but what I  _ can _ offer is information.”

“Information,” Byleth repeated dryly.

It seemed lately that all Byleth had was information - and she still somehow didn’t have enough information, all at once. Abyss. Those who slither. Did they have anything to do with each other? Did Yuri know more about this other underground cult, or was his own subterranean community truly and wholly unrelated?

Not to mention everything that Rhea - wherever she was - had been hiding about Byleth.

“Yes, and something else,” Yuri said. “Have you ever heard of the  _ Chalice of Beginnings _ ?”

* * *

“So,” Claude said. “Let me get this straight. We have a known enemy - Edelgard. Who is working with an even more dangerous enemy that we know nothing about. Meanwhile,  _ we _ have acquired an ancient cup of purported power that we don’t know how to use.”

“Purported or not, there is incredible value in the Chalice of Beginnings as a sacred artifact that time had almost forgotten,” Seteth said.

It turned out that some years back, Yuri and a few of his companions had uncovered the chalice from a sealed vault deep within the winding tunnels of Abyss. When Yuri brought it forward, Seteth had spent the better part of an hour staring at it in an almost perplexed wonder before he found his voice again.

“Sorry, Seteth,” Claude said. “But the value of a historical artifact and the value of an artifact that can resurrect the dead are vastly different in my book.”

“We know some things about Those Who Slither,” Fidget piped up. “They - ”

“ - got advanced technology, run questionable human experiments - you’re right, yes, so we’ve learned from your report,” Claude interrupted, running a hand through his hair in aggravation, no doubt frustrated by his own lack of knowledge. Sometimes, Byleth couldn’t tell if Claude loved or hated these types of mysteries. “And we’ve got the Knights of Seiros, and we’ve got Teach here. So what can we do with all this?”

Byleth had accepted Yuri’s offer of an alliance - not like she could have refused, given that their bases were literally on top of each other. Shortly after, she had called Claude, Seteth, and Fidget together to join them in a discussion about how to best use their combined forces against the Empire - which had proved to be a difficult task in and of itself, as Claude had been unusually impossible to find.

“Let’s start with what we know. We know we need reinforcements,” Byleth said, running through the numbers. The battle on the return trip in Ailell had whittled down the Daphnel army - and their own army as well. 

“Right,” Claude agreed. “Which means we need to unite the Alliance so that we can freely move troops within it.” He ran a finger along the Alliance and Empire border on the map. “Which means we need to secure the Great Bridge of Myrrdin. Once we do that - and House Gloucester no longer has the threat of an Empire invasion at their doorstep - we can make our case at the Alliance roundtable to amass more troops.”

“I suppose then you’ll take on Edelgard?” Yuri said. “Or will you be directing your troops towards this slithering cult instead?”

Seteth shook his head. “I do not think we know enough at this moment to confidently meet Those Who Slither in the Dark,” he said. “Even though they may be more dangerous, that does not dilute the threat that Edelgard represents. And Edelgard’s fall will at least enable us to search for Rhea within the Empire.”

“Cutting down the empress will be like cutting off their arm, anyways,” Fidget said. “Better to weaken their situation before popping in to face them head on, I figure.” He hesitated, looking around the table, looking suddenly self conscious. “But hey, what do I know? I ain’t no war general.”

“War general or not, it’s a good point,” Yuri applauded. “It would buy more time to learn of the slitherer’s habits as well.”

Claude glanced at Yuri from the side of his eye, as if Yuri’s presence had thrown him a little off kilter. But then he steadied himself and faced Fidget, continuing Yuri’s train of thought with, “And who better to lead that charge than our very own informant?”

Fidget looked up - mildly, at first, before realizing that all eyes were on him. Suddenly alarmed, he darted a quick look behind him, as if there might be some other informant that would take the job. “You don’t mean  _ me _ ,” he said, a shade paler now. “You’re not sending me  _ back _ there.”

“I’ve seen you bluff,” Byleth said. While she and Claude hadn’t directly spoken about sending Fidget back to Those Who Slither in the Dark, it was an idea she’d thought of privately as well. He was the only one who had access to this secret society, and they needed more details than he could currently provide. “I have confidence in your capabilities.”

“Perhaps you can bring Shamir with you, if it would help,” Seteth suggested. “She is the top infiltrator among the Knights of Seiros - which is no small feat, if I might make such a claim.”

Fidget’s lips moved but no sound came out. “I - ”

Yuri chuckled, leaning back into his chair with a leisure that sharply contrasted against Fidget’s increasing anxiety. “Come now, friend,” he said, opening a palm towards him. “It won’t be so bad. Let’s work through some ideas, shall we? We haven’t discussed how we might use this chalice yet.”

* * *

After the meeting, Claude lingered behind with an inscrutable look on his face. The door was still ajar and Byleth stood in its entrance, looking behind at the Alliance leader who was still bent over the map with eyes glazed over.

She hesitated. “Claude?” she tried.

A finger began drumming against the edge of the table. “Those who slither in the dark…” he mused aloud under his breath. “You know, Teach, I’ve been thinking. How long have they been working with the Empire? When the Imperial army raided the tombs for crest stones five years ago, when this all began - ”

Byleth darted a quick glance behind her to make sure the hallway was clear before closing the door, leaving the two of them alone in the cardinal’s room. Whatever Claude was going to say probably didn’t need to be broadcast to all passerbys.

“ - do you think it was for the experiments Fidget reported?”

She’d also turned over the year when she’d been an academy professor in her mind as well. She’d wondered how long Edelgard had been working with a cult as terrible as Fidget described - and the more she thought about it, the more she believed in the idea of a technologically advanced society with mad ambitions. While she still didn’t understand Edelgard’s place in it, Those Who Slithered at least provided some explanation for events like Remire.

“I’d thought that maybe they were using them to farm Demonic Beasts,” Byleth said quietly. There had been so many beasts at that final battle that felled both her and Rhea. The idea of their enemy’s ability to conjure more kept her awake on more than one night.

“Perhaps it’s the same,” Claude suggested. “Experiments to turn humans into monsters.”

Byleth shook her head. “They already knew how to do that,” she said. “The abandoned chapel that we cleaned out - before my father died…”

Comprehension dawned. “Right, I’d almost forgotten,” Claude said, scratching the back of his head. “The entrance wasn’t big enough for the beasts to be brought in… But if not that, then  _ what? _ What is their objective? What’s their  _ motivation _ ?”

_ Think like your prey would _ , her father had instructed her when teaching her how to lay snares and traps. But how could she think like them, when she knew nothing about them?

“We’ll know more once we send Fidget and Shamir in,” Byleth said, mostly because she hoped to the high heavens that it was true. She was certainly at just as much of a loss as Claude, and it frustrated her almost as much. “We should focus on drawing up plans for the upcoming battle to take over the bridge.”

Claude sighed. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “Just all these questions of who these shadow slitherers are - it’s like an itch that I want to scratch but can’t reach. I have half a mind to send myself in with Fidget just so I can see it firsthand.”

That was so like him that Byleth almost smiled. “I was surprised you weren’t more curious about Abyss,” Byleth said. “Yuri told me they’ve got their own library there, one with all the banned books and forgeries that have been cleaned out from the monastery library.”

Claude’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly. “That is… curious,” he agreed, his brows knitting together. “A treasure trove of documents, I’m sure. I wonder if there’s anything about Those Who Slither in there.” He paused for a beat as another thought tugged on the back of his mind. “What do you think about Yuri?”

In retrospect, Claude had probably been asking from the point of view as the leader of the Alliance probing her thoughts about another commander. So Byleth’s instinctual response of “He’s very pretty” was  _ not  _ what she should have said.

“Pretty,” Claude repeated - almost dryly, but there was a force behind his tone that weighed it down.

Byleth nodded, willing herself not to blush. Damn, that had been a stupid answer. Why had she said that? She’d have to lean into it, she supposed. “You don’t think so?”

Claude seemed torn. “Do you -  _ like _ \- pretty?” he finally managed in a haphazard question. Odd, since Claude was usually so silver-tongued. But it seemed like for once, he was speaking without knowing what his next word would be.

“I… suppose?” Byleth said, confused. It didn’t make too much of a difference, really. “He’s also very...  _ crafty _ .” There.  _ That _ was a word that was far more useful in the context of the conversation than  _ pretty _ .

Claude nodded. “Right.”

Byleth hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she should probe, but… “Did you know him from somewhere?”

He looked to her, surprised. “No,” he said, before his lips tilted into what would’ve passed for a smirk if it hadn’t been so thin. “Never met someone so  _ pretty _ before.”

And ignoring his dig, she believed him. But then - why did he seem to be so at odds with their newest ally? Maybe it was the fact that Yuri was also a schemer. Claude probably hadn’t been around many people who approached the world the same way he did - thankfully - and maybe he was unaccustomed with sharing that role. Maybe he was feeling a bit like she’d felt when she realized how much her students had grown without her - like she’d lost her footing and a bit of her identity as a professor.

“I think we can trust him, however cautiously,” Byleth said. “He’s dangerous, but… he seems the type to be willing to resort to whatever means necessary to do right by his people. And as long as we help him see them protected, he wouldn’t cross us.” A beat passed. “I’ll ask him to take us to their library - ”

“No, I can ask him,” Claude said quickly. “I’ll go now. I am curious about those books you mentioned - and there’s a few things I should probably go over with Yuri anyways, so - ” He straightened, dusting off the front of his robes as he made his way briskly to the door - but then he stopped and shook his head, shoulders slouching slightly. “I’ll find you after, okay, my friend?” he said, a little softer.

“Okay,” Byleth said quietly, nodding. She knew Claude well enough to tell that he was  _ stressed  _ \- and no wonder, with all the happenings of the war dogging their footsteps and the mysteries of the cult clouding their minds. Hell,  _ she _ was stressed. She only wished that he could sit with her for a brief respite instead of immediately soldiering on - as they all were.

And then, just as he was about to leave, Claude turned towards her while still keeping a tight hold on the doorknob. “You know,” he said abruptly with an unexpected intensity in his gaze that made Byleth’s pulse briefly stammer. “I think you’re cute, too. But I also think you’re more than that.” Then he hurriedly swept out of the room without waiting for her response - which was just as well, because Byleth had none.


	16. T is for Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda looked mournfully behind her as they left the monastery gates, bags packed for Derdriu. “Good-bye, brother-free zone,” she said, releasing a theatrical sigh. “I won’t be gone long.”
> 
> “What’s with the long face?” Raphael asked. “I’m sure your big bro will be excited to see you!”
> 
> “Too excited,” Hilda clarified, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “That’s the problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thank you's in the world to Stealth Flower for tidying up the chapter!

If anything, the battle at Ailell had reinforced Felix’s resolve to become the best swordsman in Fódlan. Several months had passed since then - they’d taken the Bridge of Myrrdin, they’d secured the support of House Gloucester, and now, as Great Tree Moon gave way to the Harpstring Moon, Felix had secured his first victory over Byleth in a duel.

Training sessions with him had been lasting longer and longer, each one leaving them both so mentally and physically exhausted that climbing the steps to the sauna afterwards to unwind seemed an insurmountable task. They always managed to reach the sauna anyways, huffing and puffing their way up the stairs sounding less like soldiers in their prime and more like those peacocking nobles who were more experienced in drinking wine and eating cakes than they were in anything else.

The steam billowed from the rocks and the first cloud that hit was - as usual - hot, humid, and hard to breathe in. And then it dissipated, warming the room and relaxing worn muscles.

“I thought they’d join,” Felix said. “That after the boar died…”

Byleth turned, surprised. They normally never spoke in their sauna sessions after training, both their minds too blissfully blank for conversation. And they’d never tried to force small talk, either, because they were - well,  _ them _ . Both of them appreciated the quiet far too much to ruin it with mindless chatter.

But maybe it was exactly this mood - of being too exhausted to keep his guard up as Felix usually did - that prompted him to speak.

“They followed me to the academy. I was the one who wanted to attend,” he continued. “Then Sylvain decided to enroll after because he’s a  _ nuisance _ , and Ingrid followed because she wanted to keep an eye on Sylvain. And then I suppose one or both of them convinced Dimitri, who brought Dedue along with him.”

The lone wolf with a pack of his own. Wasn’t that what Byleth thought of him after their first tea time, when she’d convinced Felix to represent the Golden Deer house in the White Heron Cup? He was someone who had always been determined to cut his own path, but he had never actually found himself  _ alone _ .

She should offer him an out in light of what had happened - a way to honorably return to his own Kingdom lands if he so desired, as Ingrid and Sylvain had. But she didn’t think he’d want that, and she didn’t want him to leave, either.

“At the night of the ball,” Byleth said, “Ingrid told me a story of when you were young and stole her cake, just to take a bite and spit it on the ground in front of her.”

Felix’s face - already flushed from the sauna heat - deepened. He looked away, saying, “I didn’t realize it was hers. And I hadn’t realized that I hated sweets yet.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe she told you that.”

“She said it fondly,” Byleth offered. “She also said it was mostly Sylvain’s fault.”

“It’s usually Sylvain’s fault,” Felix muttered.

“What had happened?” Byleth asked. She knew the story from Ingrid’s point of view, but she wanted to hear Felix share it from his.

“The standard,” Felix said dismissively. “Even when we were six - and Sylvain was eight - Ingrid had taken it upon herself to clean up after Sylvain’s messes. Ingrid always loved food too much, so Sylvain managed to find a slice of cake for her after she’d gotten him out of some trouble. Anyways, I didn’t know anything except that there was food sitting there and I was hungry.”

When Byleth had asked Felix to compete in the White Heron Cup, Felix had been sullen until they brought up Sylvain. She didn’t see that same spark in him now as they spoke of his childhood friends. There was a distance there, one that seemed like Felix was forcing himself to keep.

“You seem to enjoy cake better now,” Byleth said - and at Felix’s confused look, Byleth supplied, “I’ve seen you eat it with Lysithea.”

“Oh?” Felix said. “I hadn’t realized you noticed.”

“I have always been moderately concerned that Lysithea would shove cake down my throat if I ever approached too closely while she was eating,” Byleth confessed. “I once caught her analyzing the dining hall menu, measuring the sweets to vegetables ratio, and - well, she’s quite a force of nature, our Lysithea.”

“Hmph,” Felix said in moderate amusement. “She would’ve. Shoved cake down your throat, that is.”

She’d kind of been joking, but Felix spoke with such confidence that Byleth wondered if that had been exactly how Lysithea had cornered Felix into eating cake with her. Huh.

“I was thinking,” Byleth said, pressing onwards, “as we prepare for garnering support at the Alliance Roundtable… it might be a good time to reach out to Sylvain and Ingrid again.” She fell silent, waiting for a reaction Felix didn’t provide.

A few moons was hardly enough for Sylvain and Ingrid to secure the lands that had been battered by the Empire, but perhaps it was enough for them to afford to send some aid to the war effort - or at least, provide additional intelligence around the Empire’s movements in former Kingdom territory. While Byleth didn’t allow herself to hope for much, she  _ did _ hope that the contact might help ease the scowl that Felix had worn ever since Dimitri fell.

The rocks hissed as more water was added, a second cloud of steam smothering Byleth’s senses. Pinpricks of sweat beaded from her skin.

“It’s getting too warm,” Felix said, standing.

And though Byleth’s aching muscles begged to linger in the heat for a few moments longer, she followed the lone wolf out.

* * *

Hilda looked mournfully behind her as they left the monastery gates, bags packed for Derdriu. “Good-bye, brother-free zone,” she said, releasing a theatrical sigh. “I won’t be gone long.”

“What’s with the long face?” Raphael asked. “I’m sure your big bro will be excited to see you!”

“ _ Too _ excited,” Hilda clarified, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “That’s the  _ problem _ .” She brightened suddenly, turning back to face Balthus who was seeing them out and lingering by the doors. “You know, I’m sure Holst would be simply  _ ecstatic _ to see you again, Baltie - ”

Balthus - the brawler that Hilda had caught sight of during that introductory battle in Abyss - had turned out to be an old friend of Hilda’s brother, finding refuge from bounty hunters and debt collectors in the isolated underground society. “I know  _ that _ tone!” he said, laughing. “You’re just trying to use me to distract him from fawning over you. Not gonna happen, lady. Much as I’d love to see Holst again, me going to an Alliance conference about politics is about the worst idea.” He shook his head. “I’ll stay here where I’m more useful. Let the King of Grappling punch any army that tries to take the monastery while you’re gone.”

The Abyssian crew was to stay behind at Garreg Mach while Byleth and Claude were to march onwards. “I’m not sure  _ I’m _ who you need to persuade noble ears to fund our little campaign,” Yuri had deflected. “At any rate, my presence is appreciated more at Garreg Mach than at the heart of the Alliance. Though... I’ll say I find the sentiment flattering that you wish for my company.” He had chuckled to himself and Claude had suddenly become far too interested in restringing his bow to offer any support, so Byleth had no choice but to leave him behind - even though she  _ did _ think that someone with his masterful command over slippery words was exactly who they needed at the Roundtable.

He’d be better suited for it than  _ she _ was, at least.

“What a man, the King of Grappling,” Raphael said as they continued on their way. “Never thought I’d end up meeting the  _ king _ ! I’ve gotta keep training if I wanna catch up!”

“You know, no one actually  _ calls _ him the King of Grappling besides himself,” Claude pointed out, scratching his head. “Technically, you don’t really need to make him your king…. Though he’d probably appreciate it.”

And Byleth said mildly, “I’m sure he’d appreciate being your mother’s king.” She spoke quietly so that only Claude could hear, and the corner of her lips couldn’t help but tilt into a teasing smirk.

Byleth had been concerned when she’d noticed that not only did Claude seem to be at odds with Yuri, but with Balthus as well. These were their new allies, and yet Claude kept a healthy distance from them. With Yuri - well, Byleth fancied she understood  _ that _ one. They were too alike in some ways - schemers, the both of them - and Byleth figured it would take some time for Claude to adjust to the dynamic. But when she’d asked about his reservations around Balthus, Claude had revealed his discomfort at learning that the brawler held an amorous flame for Claude’s mother.

Claude flushed. “My mother’s happy with the king she’s got,” he muttered.

“Of course she is,” Byleth said sportingly, only a little apologetic. She’d been subject to too many of Claude’s teases and hair-brained schemes to feel true remorse at poking a little fun. Besides, she’d told him, if  _ she _ could support and love Leonie despite the woman’s obsession with her father, Claude could handle working with a man who was enamored with his mother.

Something flickered over Claude’s face, too quick for Byleth to decipher. “And what about you?” he said suddenly, shifting closer to her. “What kind of king would  _ you _ want?”

Byleth thought of Dimitri and the futile efforts of three Divine Pulses, of a figure in blue engulfed by a sea of red. “A living one.”

His brows knitted slightly in confusion before understanding set in, and he looked away. “Ah.”

She shook her head. They’d been bantering, and she just… “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - ”

“No, you’re right.  _ I _ shouldn’t have - it’s a reminder, at any rate,” Claude said quickly. “We should never lose sight of it.”

Byleth wasn’t entirely sure what  _ it _ meant - if  _ it _ was the war, or the sanity that Dimitri had lost, for instance - but she figured she got the gist of it and shut up.

They rode like that for a while, in silence, with their troops at their heels. Now that the Alliance was unified, they didn’t need to mobilize the entire army for a political conference. But they brought some of them in case - well, in case things got nasty.

“Are you worried?” Byleth asked softly. “About how they’ll react?”

Claude didn’t respond directly. “They’ll say yes. Eventually,” he said. “Especially with you helping advocate for the case.”

He  _ was _ worried, then. “We’ll see this through,” she promised.

He sighed. “There’ll be rumors - ”

“There’ll always be rumors,” Byleth interrupted, not letting him finish the thought. She offered an encouraging smile. “We survived the rumors that we’d been sleeping together instead of all those poker nights, haven’t we?”

Claude chuckled, and it rang with more irony than mirth. “Oh yes,” he drawled dryly. “May  _ those _ baseless rumors never come to fruition.”

Well, okay. That was a  _ bit _ more sarcasm than she’d been expecting, and she surprised herself when she recoiled a little. Yes, the idea of them being in a relationship was a ridiculous one, but she wasn’t  _ so _ repulsive as to warrant that tone, was she?

Byleth brushed the thought aside. “A good thing that we are in control of that fate,” she said, simply to end the tangent and to refocus on Claude’s concerns. “They know we need reinforcements that they can’t afford to fully provide. They’ll approve our request if they have any understanding of reason.”

A funny look crossed Claude’s face, one of equal parts fondness and something else that Byleth couldn’t quite decipher. Was she... being  _ patronized _ ?

“What?” Byleth demanded, a little defensively.

He had  _ better _ not be patronizing her. (And that time that he’d asked to be the one to wrap a headscarf around her - had that been patronizing, too?)

“You’re too good for this world,” Claude said finally. “That’s all.”

And his smile - it was a little warm, enough to set Byleth at ease, despite her frustration with all of his cryptic compliments lately. “I’m not  _ good _ ,” she said after a beat. “I’m just  _ me. _ ”

“To see the world through your eyes,” Claude bemoaned dramatically, lifting his arms in exaggeration. But then he shook his head and darted a quick glance at her from the corner of his eyes. “I wish you could see yourself through mine,” he said with less mirth this time, and then he reared his wyvern into the skies.

* * *

The plan was to meet up with the other Alliance lords and to truly unify under the Crest of Flames banner that Claude had designed. They’d request for troops, and they’d request something more controversial: permission to receive Almyran aid from across Fodlan’s Throat.

As far as Byleth knew, Claude hadn’t shared his heritage with anyone else yet. Nor did he share with  _ her _ just  _ how  _ he was able to persuade Almyran forces to aid in another country’s civil war - let alone a country with…  _ unfriendly _ relations. Byleth suspected that it took more than just Claude’s silvertongue,, but whether the influence came from a bribe or Claude’s Almyran heritage, well… She supposed the latter, that he was more than just a commoner on his father’s side, simply because what  _ could _ Claude offer to Almyra as a bribe?

What did he say, back when she’d told him that he needed to come up with a new persona for the underground gambling rings?  _ It won’t be my first time pretending to be somebody _ . Was he referring to these obscured Almyran relations of his?

Maybe, Byleth thought amusedly to herself, he really was an earl in Almyra. Maybe that was why he didn’t take to the nickname  _ Earl Whetstone _ too kindly.

So most likely, he was some noble of influence in Almyra as well. Unless… Byleth hesitated. Unless Claude offered  _ himself _ as a bribe. Did he really need better standing than the title he already had in Fódlan to persuade Almyra to fight for their cause? It wouldn’t be the first time that marriage contracts were drafted for the sake of politics. It was a perfectly reasonable approach to achieving the unity across borders that Claude had long desired.

And yet, the idea didn’t sit well with Byleth and it made her chest stitch together uncomfortably. It just seemed such a drastic - no, a  _ serious _ decision to make, and he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t have proposed anything of the sort without running it by her first, right?

Sure, diplomacy was more Claude’s thing than hers. After all, she  _ had _ just lamented that they’d left Yuri behind for no other reason than that she thought the all-too-pretty swordsman would do a better job at the Roundtable than she. But marrying Almyran royalty for troops - he wouldn’t. Would he?

_ Heavens _ , this was so unlike her. Why did it matter? She said she’d  _ support _ Claude’s choices. No matter what. It was just… She would feel a little hurt if he’d made such a change to his personal life without informing her of his decisions, because he was just that important to her.

The doors to the Riegan estate were drawn open. “Welcome home, Duke von Riegan,” one of the knights greeted subserviently, bowing and moving aside to open the way.

_ Important _ . That word clung to her mind. He was important to her. She’d known that for a while now, so why did it feel like the sentiment still did him injustice - ?

“Is that you, kiddo?” 

Beside her, Claude cleared his throat a little too loudly and shifted, his robes rustling. “I have returned,  _ Nardel _ ,” he said, his enunciation damningly clean.

A rugged man with an equally rugged beard had met them in the entryway. A warrior in his own right, Byleth judged, if the man’s honed and hulking arms were anything to go by. And an experienced one too, with more scars than he had wrinkles.

His eyes widened briefly with realization and he immediately dipped into a low bow of his own. “Oh, ah, Master Claude. It’s you,” he said hastily once he’d righted himself. “I mistook you for one of the local children. My apologies.”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed. What game did they think they were playing, and did they really think she wouldn’t notice?

If it had been with anyone else, Byleth would’ve kept quiet. After all, being underestimated was an advantage of its own. But since it was  _ Claude _ trying to pull the wool over her eyes, she had to make her feelings known.

Especially if he wasn’t going to tell her how he managed to win over those Almyran troops. It was time to let him know that she noticed more than he realized.

“Yes,” Byleth said dryly. “Nothing local about this  _ kiddo _ at all.”

The others in their party had cleaved off on the journey to their own respective territories before meeting back up at the impending conference. The accompanying soldiers were currently attending to their horses and wyverns, and now the only ones in the hall were just Byleth, Claude, and the bronze-skinned retainer whose name sounded awfully close to the renowned Almyran general Nader the Undefeated.

As if her father hadn’t taught her about foreign combat techniques and notable fighters from neighboring countries when she was young. She might not have been able to recite Nader’s name when prompted, but now confronted with a man who shared Claude’s complexion and the poorly disguised name “Nardel,” Byleth recognized the situation for what it was.

Claude stiffened. Nader’s golden eyes were frozen onto hers.

Byleth stared back unflinchingly.

A beat passed, and then two.

Suddenly, the shock etched onto Nader’s face folded and a raucous laughter burst forth. The tension in the air eased, and Byleth felt Claude begrudgingly relax beside her.

“You’re a rare one with your wits about you, aren’t you?” Nader chuckled in good humor. “So,  _ kiddo _ , who’s this fetching young lady?”

Byleth noticed flushed skin on the back of Claude’s neck before it was quickly obscured by a gloved hand as Claude rubbed the area abashedly. “Always a few steps ahead, aren’t you, Teach?” he muttered before raising his voice to address Nader. “This is my professor, who I asked to join me at the Roundtable conference. And Teach, well… you seem to have figured out who  _ Nardel _ is.”

“ _ Professor _ , eh?” Nader said with a wide grin. The man carried a large infectious energy with him, Byleth noticed. He had the type of smile that made others want to smile alongside him. “I’ve heard good things about you from  _ Master Claude _ .” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “And you must be good, to be keeping a few steps ahead of our quick-footed kiddo here, isn’t that right, Master Claude?”

“Why do you and Judith insist on calling me names like  _ kiddo _ and  _ boy _ ?” Claude said, shaking his head. “I’m the leader of the Alliance now. It’s demeaning.”

“It’s all right, kiddo,” Byleth said, and as Claude looked to her with all the beginnings of outrage, she let a small smile slip forward. It seemed to catch him off guard and he deflated slightly, falling back into himself.

“Would you look at that,” Nader mused.

“Look at what?” Byleth inquired.

“It’s nothing, just good to see you finally in person,” Nardel covered charmingly, and there was enough earnestness in his statement that Byleth let it slide this time. “Let’s get out of the hallway. We’ve got plenty to catch up on, Master Claude.”

He led them away and Byleth followed, wondering.

Claude had obtained not just an army to fight his battles, but also a famed general to play his retainer. How long ago did he set these plans in motion? Nader had been serving House Riegan since she’d woken up from her five year slumber.

Just how influential was the Alliance leader in Almyra? What promises had he made when she was still out of commission? If he did give himself away in marriage - did he just not think to bring it up because he’d arranged it so long ago? The topic never really did come up on its own.

It almost made sense - and yet the anxiety that had started brewing in the pit of her stomach hadn’t abated. If only she’d been here - if she hadn’t been  _ sleeping _ those five long years -

She pursed her lips and pushed her thoughts aside as Nader brought them to a war room. She’d have to figure it out later.

* * *

After dinner, Byleth slipped away on her own. Claude had been eager to show her around, but she’d pointed out that she shouldn’t interrupt his obligations as the head of House Riegan on his first day back. “They can wait a day - ” he’d started before catching himself and shaking his head, submitting to the ethics of  _ duties first _ . Besides, Byleth was perfectly capable of learning a city on her own.

She weaved in some of Ignatz’s blue dye into her hair, slipped on her outer coat, and hit the streets. In an aimless pattern, she made her way through several Derdriu neighborhoods until she found herself in Mercier Park, which hosted one of its more famous markets.

Mercier Park hardly resembled a park in the traditional sense of the word. Supposedly, Derdriu had been briefly besieged in the revolution that cleaved the Alliance from the Kingdom, and a corner of the city crumbled in the attack. Afterwards, the merchant Mercier had appealed to House Riegan to commission docks be built where land once was to entertain traders traveling by boat. Regardless of its origin, it was now known as the most exotic trading post in Fodlan, with ships instead of buildings and sprawling boardwalks instead of roads.

One ship was permanently anchored with the name  _ The Drunken Sailor _ emblazoned along its side. She remembered this one from her last (albeit brief) stay in Derdriu. They’d been staying the night on the way to a job and her father had left such an expensive bar tab open at the Drunken Sailor that he’d been told under no uncertain terms to never step foot on their plankboards again. The pub seemed less lively than she remembered, and the paint boasting its name was chipped.

Other ships were starting to wheel their market stands back onboard the ships. Dusk was falling, and crowds were dwindling.

One casual passerby caught her eye - a woman wrapped in a nondescript cloak, casually inspecting the goods of closing stands but never purchasing anything. Finally, she paused outside one of the smaller boats, speculatively gazing up as if deciding whether the shop had anything worth perusing before purposefully stepping onto the plank to board.

She’d travelled enough to know that there were two types of people during these hours: those that rushed to be home  _ before _ dark, and those that were waiting  _ for _ the dark.

An old mercenary had once told her, “Underground rings change location all the time. Whenever you’re back in a city, follow where the cityfolk are going  _ now _ . Don’t go to where you knew it to have once been.”

Her father had protested this statement. “Don’t go to them at all, if you can avoid it.”

The merc had laughed. “How else are you supposed to learn a city if not through its hidden alcoves?”

And so Byleth followed the woman onto the ship, ignoring all the paltry offerings it showcased on its upper deck and headed down the stairs. Her pulse quickened slightly - there was always a bit of risk involved when hunting for the local underground gambling ring and black market goods. Once, she’d stumbled into a slaver’s market and had to kill several men on her way out. More than once, she’d stumbled into a prostitution ring.

But this time, she didn’t have to worry. The ship’s bunks had been converted to house tables and bars and miniature shops; and the war must have treated Derdriu kinder than it had treated Garreg Mach - for while the poker tables weren’t full, neither were they  _ empty _ . 

She ordered a beer and picked a seat in the back of a larger room where she might better observe the patrons. Maybe, she thought, she could learn more about the common people’s opinion about the war from a perspective within the Alliance.

There was an old man in one corner, staring blankly into space, whiskey forgotten in hand. The woman who she followed had taken her drink and disappeared into one of the poker rooms. A middle aged man sat near the middle, glancing towards the entrance every once in a while - no doubt expecting someone - and a young couple spoke quietly amongst themselves in another corner.

Byleth frowned.  _ Odd _ . A night in the underground wasn’t a usual date for couples.

But - they most certainly  _ were _ a couple, Byleth thought as eyeing them a little more critically. There was  _ something _ there. The way they were turned towards each other, knees knocking together, sharing quiet smiles and secret words…. To entertain herself, she mused that maybe they were sharing poker strategies, or playing a drinking game, or - 

Wait. But why would they do  _ that? _ Those were things Byleth did with  _ Claude _ \- 

... _ Shit _ .

It was like she’d been doused in cold water. Why had her mind wandered in that direction? Did she - ?

_ No _ . She didn’t. Couldn’t! If she were to assess herself and Claude from a third party perspective, there’d be nothing but the affections of comrades-in-arms. Okay, maybe a little more than that, but  _ still _ .

But - that anxiety she’d felt earlier in the day, at the notion that Claude might be engaged - and it really was that, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about whether Claude was hiding something from her or not. She knew Claude. He was  _ always _ hiding something, and it had never bothered her when he was her student.  _ Sothis _ was the one who was always the eager gossip. When had she gotten so invested in - ?

She couldn’t finish the thought. Instead, she remembered every private meeting of theirs since she’d woken up, and how much she looked forward to them - and that wasn’t normal, was it? That wasn’t something  _ platonic _ . That was…

_ Fuck _ .

She was in love with Claude von Riegan.

This could not end well.


	17. T is for Transgressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want us to let Almyran troops in,” said the man Byleth knew to be Lorenz’s father. He turned incredulously to Holst. “You cannot be entertaining such a ridiculous notion.”
> 
> “It’s certainly contrary to our house’s duty to secure our borders,” Holst allowed slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to StealthFlower for being a damn trooper and revising this for me. Thank you so much!

Maybe _ in love _ was a strong word for it, Byleth thought to herself, watching Claude lay out their plan before the lords and ladies of the Roundtable. Definitely - definitely _ something _ , but did it have to be _ in love? _ It couldn’t be so dramatic. Maybe she just - _ fancied _ him. That was much more a manageable emotion than _ in love _.

Mostly, she wished that she had never made the realization at all. The past week they’d spent preparing for this moment and she would get distracted by the curve of his lips or the flex of his forearms or the shine of his earrings and she’d _ wonder _ things that she’d never wondered about him before - and then he’d ask her something, and she’d have to pull on her poker face and pretend that she _ wasn’t _ fantasizing anything - and - and - _ this wasn’t her _.

She was a woman of _ business _ . A mercenary. She was someone who put the job first and her feelings _ second _, and yet, her newfound awareness of her emotions were getting in the damn way.

Like now. It was absolutely _ critical _ that she support him in his appeal to the noblemen before him, who fancied themselves the Alliance’s finest. (Finest _ what _ , no one ever clarified.) And yet all she could focus on was how she _ couldn’t _ focus. Because of him. Okay, that wasn’t fair. Because of her _ awareness _ of him.

He stood at the center of the room, hair roguishly slicked back except for that one defiant strand that fell in front of his eyes. His hands were ungloved for once, instead decorated with thin gold bands around his fingers that indicated his wealth without the gaudiness of jeweled rings and coat-of-arms engravings. His shoes were shined, shoulder cape pressed, and if he wasn’t the picture of regalness - well, Byleth didn’t know what _ could _ be.

His presentation, however, was perhaps less appreciated by the others present. “You want us to let Almyran troops _ in _ ,” said the man Byleth knew to be Lorenz’s father. He turned incredulously to Holst. “You _ cannot _ be entertaining such a ridiculous notion.”

Holst resembled his sister in their shared pink hair, but the similarities ended there. Where Hilda was petite, Holst was of a broad and stocky build. While Hilda was dramatic, Holst was boisterous - exuding a similar energy that Byleth found in Nader. But currently, the Goneril general was subdued, a frown stretched across his lips in deep contemplation.

“It’s certainly contrary to our house’s duty to secure our borders,” Holst allowed slowly.

Claude’s brows knitted together ever so slightly - the only indication that the critical reception to his proposal was eating at him. “It’s not contrary,” Claude said. “We are in a war that will define Fódlan’s borders - but the one we share with Almyra isn’t the one in question at this time.”

“The Empire wields weapons and Demonic Beasts that we do not understand,” Count Ordelia said quietly. “I do believe it prudent to address the threat Edelgard’s army presents, and that the threat of an Almyran invasion pales in comparison. The Empire has its own powerful allies.”

“Win or lose this civil war, we shall still be _ Fodlan _,” Count Gloucester countered. “If we lose our lands to Almyra, what will become of us?”

“Father, if I may - ” Lorenz started, cutting in, “we are not in a position to refuse aid. While we have suffered poor relations with Almyra in the past, is it not desirable to one day be at peace with our neighbors? Could not their offer of goodwill be that first step?”

“A noble argument, my son,” his father replied, “but you cannot assume that the barbarians to the east share your intelligent sensibilities. For what reason would they offer us aid, but to trick us into giving them free passage into the heart of the Alliance? When they betray our good faith, we will not have the resources to both fight them back and resist the Empire.”

Claude’s easy smile was now strained around the edges; Lorenz stiffened in his upright posture. “_ When _ , Count Gloucester?” Claude repeated. “A powerful use of rhetoric there, seeking to imply that an unlikely scenario is _ inevitable. _Why don’t you consider that the Almyrans might want peace as we do?”

“_ We _ are not the ones with a history of attempted invasions,” Margrave Edmund said, contributing to Count Gloucester’s defense. “ _ We _ are not the ones hurling armies unprovoked at the Locket.”

“Neither have the Almyrans for a turn,” Nader said, a dark glint in his eye as he stared at the noble. He was dressed in traditional Fodlani garb and his wild hair had been braided back; and when Byleth arrived she had barely recognized him. But then again, that was probably the point, with _ Holst _ so closely seated relative to him. “That should speak for itself.”

“So they’re getting clever with how they want to get past our borders, using trickery and diplomacy instead of brute force,” Margrave Edmund argued impatiently. “Their recent inactivity means _ nothing _ .” He turned back to Holst. “ _ You _ have seen their brutality firsthand, the most of anyone here. Surely you cannot believe that they can be inclined to something as civilized _ peace _.”

Holst set his jaw and nodded. “I don’t think we should offer them passage,” he said finally. “The risks are too great.”

Count Gloucester settled back into his chair. “There,” he said, reassured. “You speak with reason, Duke Goneril.”

Lorenz looked troubled. Hilda leaned forward, eyes darting worriedly between the members of congress. Marianne’s eyes were downcast, while Lysithea was looking up, bristling with anger. And Byleth - she hated this. She wasn’t practiced at debates of discourse - at least, not like this. She communicated best through actions and not words, and this was everything she’d tried to avoid growing up when she’d let her father manage all interpersonal relations in their mercenary company. And yet...

Byleth stood up, refusing to look at Claude. She didn’t want to see all of his subtle tells of hurt. No - she had to make this right. For him.

All eyes were drawn to her. Byleth readied herself, maintaining an even mask as she inhaled deeply.

“Shall I call for some tea?”

* * *

The table was silent as a serving woman came and poured freshly brewed tea into their cups. And while Byleth hated being the one to initiate a tea party - that she’d yet again inflicted this upon herself, damn it - she recognized that tensions were rising too quickly to be productive to their cause, and that busying noble mouths with the sipping of tea was the best way to quiet them down. 

The amber liquid swirled in the porcelain before her. Taunting her.

She moved to drink from it, lips tightly pressed together. This earthy blend - it even _ smelled _ like dirt.

“Archbishop Byleth,” Count Gloucester acknowledged politely, tilting his head towards her as he set his own cup down.

She blanched at the title. _ Archbishop? _ That wasn’t - 

Yuri’s voice ran through her mind - _ you’re the one she appointed as her successor, no? _ Right. _ Archbishop _.

She still had half a mind to correct the noble, but there was a respect in his posture when addressing her that she didn’t see when he addressed Claude. And then she remembered - Lorenz had said his father was a pious man, hadn’t he? Was this why Claude insisted on her company? To speak on behalf of the church? Was he setting up this platform for her, like he’d set up his poker plays all those years ago in the underground? He’d bid a raise, and now it was her turn to call.

She stood once again - but more slowly than she had previous, mostly to buy herself some time because _ what was she supposed to say? _ If she hadn’t been distracted this past week because of - well - _ Claude _ and how she - if she’d been - 

_ Collect yourself _. She had to say something. She could… pretend it was one of her lectures, maybe.

This was just another class. They were just another group of squabbling children.

“Why do we cross-train?” Byleth said abruptly.

She saw Hilda and Marianne exchange confused glances, though the latter did so rather timidly. She _ felt _ Claude straighten beside her more than anything, because she was still refusing to look at him. And Lysithea - even though she didn’t understand what was happening - still couldn’t resist answering a question posed by her former professor.

“Different training exercises target different muscle groups,” she answered. “Cross-training allows a fighter to round out weaknesses through practicing varied routines.”

“Yes. Practicing a single regimen would result in stagnation, whereas practicing a blend of techniques allows us to grow in ways we otherwise would not,” Byleth said. “For the key to growth is _ change _ . These past many years, Fodlan has followed a single path, but things cannot stay the same. This war has seen to that.” She finally looked to Claude - and that smile, it was _ small _ , but it was _ real _, and what wouldn’t she do to keep it that way? Emboldened, she continued, “Let us not shun new possibilities simply because they are different from how we have done things in the past. Let us seize this opportunity to write the narrative of Fodlan to tell a story of where we want Fodlan to be.”

She seated herself again, and she knew - this was when she was supposed to drink her tea. Pretend like the impromptu speech she’d given hadn’t just totally exhausted her in a way that training never did, like she’d done something so ordinary that she could fit it in between sips of tea.

_ But _.

She wrapped her hands around her cup.

“Well said, Professor,” Lorenz commended. “Your words move me.”

A boyish grin slid onto Holst’s face, and suddenly Byleth _ could _ see more of a resemblance between the renowned general and her former laziest student. “Hilda’s written about you a lot in her letters when she attended the academy,” he said, “but I must confess - I’ve never been jealous of having her having you as a professor until now.” He laughed, and the tension in the air eased. “Regardless, a simple speech - rousing as it is - doesn’t absolve my concerns. But I shall think on it some more.”

“Yes, I see your meaning, Archbishop,” Count Gloucestor acknowledged. “But we cannot blindly ignore the risks involved in letting the Almyran army past our borders.”

Byleth blinked. “I am not asking you to,” she said.

Claude stood then, retaking control of the room. “I know my proposal demands a lot from all of you,” he said, and then he tossed a smile around the room. “I know _ I _ would question your sanity and intellect if you all had immediately agreed to it without reservation. But I truly do think that this is the Alliance’s best chance at pushing back the Empire for good. For a _ better _ Fodlan.” He gathered his documents. “Sleep on it. Let’s reconvene in a few days’ time.”

As the nobles started to file out, Claude turned to her with solemn green eyes, his charismatic mask gone and replaced with something more honest.

“Thanks, Teach,” he said softly. “I really appreciate you, you know that?”

And for a moment, Byleth thought that she might have a heart after all, but it was all twisted and pulsating with erratic heartbeats - _ I really appreciate you, you know that _ \- and somehow, she was warm and frozen all at once - _ he appreciates me _ \- and it was like no one else was there, just them - just them, and this void between _ appreciation _ and what she wanted to hear -

Fuck.

Who was she fooling? She wasn’t - this was - 

She was definitely in love.

* * *

So with her words, she was able to delay the rejection of the proposal. But the discussions never stopped over the coming days, and the discussions didn’t move forward - simply circling on itself, like a dog with its tail. And was this what the ruling nobility was like? All bickering words, exhausting time with inactionable arguments as around them, a war waged on? How did they ever get anything _ done? _

They were tired. The same arguments were being made, only be met by the same counterarguments; and there was neither enough fact nor trust to move the discussion forward.

And then one night - one awful night - all reason departed and emotions exploded. And Byleth was left wishing that it _ was _ the same arguments being made over and over again.

Count Gloucester was the first spark. “For that matter, how do we know this isn’t some grand coup that you have been plotting? Your reputation for your schemes proceed you,” he burst. “Goddess knows where you’ve been, or _ who _ you’ve been, before you slipped into the ranks of Alliance nobility six years ago bearing that crest of yours with nary a connection. A timely and clean appearance it was, wasn’t it, given the health of the former Duke of House Riegan? And now, you insist that we open our borders to a known enemy! A preposterous sentiment!”

Claude stilled, his eyes sliding over to Count Gloucester with a blank expression, as if his muscles had forgotten how to wear his smiling mask. _ We’re both outsiders in this world _ , he’d said, and for the first time, Byleth _ saw _ it. The comfortable confines that the Fodlan nobility had built for themselves, how glamorous they were within their boxes - Claude was nothing like that. He was free, but he was _ alone _, trying to open the glass doors that the others had locked themselves behind.

She wanted to reach across - to hold his hand, to slip her fingers between his, to remind him that she was here with him as a fellow outsider. But - that wasn’t something friends did, was it? She couldn’t. It was _ inappropriate _ . She should - what _ should _ she do?

She’d never been quite like this before, at a loss with even the simplest of actions. But it was like her mind was whirring too quickly for her body to comprehend, and so it instead just - _ locked down _ , and she just _ watched _.

Margrave Edmund leapt to Count Gloucester’s argument, eyes alight. “Perhaps this sword might cleave a win for you either way,” he speculated. “If Fodlan should fall to barbarians, then you shall win through blood; and if it should not, then you shall win through influence. After all, your vision of peace between Fodlan and Almyra would reduce the domain of House Goneril, would it not? How great will _ their _ influence be if Fodlan’s Throat no longer needs defending? Slowly, you’ll encroach upon the other domains of this land. A small upset in the balance of powers can launch you even further into favor.”

Byleth stared, dumbfounded.

What _ was _ this? This was not intelligence speaking - these were the delusions brought about by _ fear _\- 

A slowly burning rage began to unfurl in her core as she wrapped her mind around the argument. She was about to bring up that of course House Goneril would still have influence, because opening up the border also meant opening up _ trade _ and new economical potential and Margrave Edmund should have _ known _ this. But Claude was never one to need saving - not as a student in the Garreg Mach underground when his Almyran heritage was outed, and not here. “After all I’ve done to save the Alliance, you really think that I’m the enemy?” Claude said, and it wasn’t as cold as when he’d addressed Fidget after Ailell. No, Byleth was instead reminded of the feather-light kiss of the first winter frost.

He turned on his heel and left, and the other nobles watched with mouths hanging open slightly, as if none of them quite understood what had happened. Holst stood silent in contemplation, his mountain of a frame casting a shadow upon the mood, before he too turned and stalked away in a direction different from Claude.

It was clear: there was no more to discuss. The remainder of the Roundtable each went their own way, leaving behind the roiling atmosphere to settle on its own.

A few of her students had lingered. Tentatively, Hilda stepped up to Byleth, speaking in such subdued tones that Byleth hardly recognized her voice. “Don’t worry, Professor,” Hilda said. “I know how to handle my older brother.”

The implied: _ I can make him come around _. Byleth smiled softly, thinking of what she’d said when they had watched Maya attempt to beat sense into Raphael. “Let them dote on you first, wasn’t that right?” Byleth said.

Hilda giggled. Byleth had long known that Claude’s smiles were fake, and so were Hilda’s laughter and tears. But now the notes of her laughter weren’t quite as shrill around the edges as she beamed, “Professor, you remembered!” She shrugged, regaining some of her usual airiness. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll even get a new bottle of perfume with it.”

Lorenz then clutched his hand over his heart and bowed, which gave Byleth pause. “I, too, shall reason with my father,” he promised. “I fear that he did not much act as a noble should today. His words were far from reason.”

“Thank you, Lorenz,” Byleth said. “But you didn’t have to bow.”

“I did,” Lorenz insisted. “I must express my apologies for what has transpired. It reflects poorly upon us all.”

“Your words and actions are separate from your father’s,” Byleth said, “and I believe your influence will be good for him.”

“And you’ll speak to your adoptive father, right, Marianne?” Lysithea said, stepping forward with conviction.

“I…” Marianne’s eyes flickered downward, faltering for a just moment before she steeled herself and pulled her gaze back up. She nodded once. “I can do my best.”

Hilda beamed. “Well that’ll take care of Margrave Edmund, then. Not even the Professor can say no to Marianne,” she said confidently, and her encouragement made Marianne blush. “Speaking of which… _ you’ll _ look after Claude, Professor?” Hilda turned to Byleth with worry knitting her brows. “He seemed really affected back there, not at all like his usual self.”

“Of course,” she said, because what else could Byleth do _ but _ find him? She hadn’t stopped thinking about him since she’d seen the color drain from his face. For heaven’s sake, to be totally honest, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him at _ all _ since she’d realized she was - well, that she was -

“Good,” Hilda said, turning to leave - but then just hesitating long enough to say, “This will all work out, right, Professor?”

After all this, her students _ still _ thought that she had all the answers. But where she would’ve once condemned them for being naive, Byleth instead felt touched.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll wrangle time itself until it does,” she promised, and then she headed off in the direction in which Claude had disappeared.

* * *

She found him in the east watchtower staring out into the horizon, the wind rippling through his hair and fluttering through his shoulder cape. Above, the sky was beginning to darken, and the brightest of the stars were emerging from its blue canvas. She’d met him like this once before on the night of the academy ball, back when she was still learning what it was to trust and he was keeping his dreams held tightly against his heart.

And now, she understood why he’d been so private about his ambitions for so long. Noble though they were, his dreams meant _ change _ \- and change was something people feared.

“You once said that the expanse of the sky made your dreams seem simpler,” she said quietly as she approached. “Is that still true?”

Claude didn’t answer, instead gripping the corners of the window post tighter. His fingers were several shades paler than usual from the cold, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“What they said was wrong,” Byleth said, “but they’ll come around. I just - I want you to know that you’re not alone in this.”

That last time they’d shared a tower together, Byleth had just been deciding to support Claude in his undisclosed ambitions. And now the idea of Byleth doing anything _ but _ supporting Claude was impossibly foreign. _ I would love for you to share in those ambitions with me, _he’d said back then - and it had become true. His ambitions had become hers as well - not only because she believed in the vision, but also because she believed in the man who dreamt them up.

Because she was _ in love _ with that man, and if he ever were to take those ambitions back - she would break. She’d lost her father. She’d lost Sothis. And she’d _ killed _ even more souls that didn’t deserve to die. She needed his dreams, she needed _ him _, to give her purpose in this war because without them - who would she be but just another mercenary for hire?

Just another mercenary. How odd that she’d think of it this way. She had tried so hard at the beginning of her professorship to mold her class into just another mercenary crew, but instead they’d imparted upon her morals and a direction in life that showed her just how pallid her life had been before.

“Lorenz is speaking to his father, Hilda’s appealing to her brother, and Marianne’s pleading with Margrave Edmund,” Byleth continued, taking a place by his side, folding her arms on the sill and leaning over the edge of the window. The streets of Derdriu below were mimicking the sky with street lamps slowly flickering to life. “Even if one of the noble leaders fails to be persuaded, they’ll fold after they realize the rest have come around. You’ve done well in all of this, Claude. Now we just have to trust in our friends to carry us through.”

He nodded once, jerkily, before setting his jaw again.

So _ that _ part he understood. In that case….

Byleth sighed. “You’re seeing yourself as an outsider.”

His eyes snapped to hers at that, and there was something lost in his expression that shattered the cavity in Byleth’s chest. “Sometimes it seems like no matter how hard you try, there’s no fitting in,” he said with a faux lightness that clashed with his words.

_ You fit with me _ , she thought almost desperately, but she couldn’t voice it. How _ could _ she tell him something like that? Especially not now, when he needed so much more.

“When I was a child,” Claude started suddenly, “there was someone - well, I thought the world of him. He was everything that I wanted to be - strong, respected, with a presence that could command a room through intimidation alone. I followed him everywhere, and when I wasn’t, I was trying to train, to learn how to fight like him. But then one day he told me to stop. That I would never be like him. I was too weak, I had coward’s blood running through my veins, and I’d never amount to anything. That I could never be Almyran, no matter how I might pretend otherwise, so I might as well go back to Fodlan where I belonged or better yet, I could just _ die _ and leave him the hell alone.”

Was this it? Was this the origin of why Claude so actively pushed others away? “That’s awful,” Byleth said.

“Yes, well,” Claude said, releasing an tired sigh. “I came down sick with something that night. The doctors determined that it was most likely poison, and that I was lucky to be alive.”

Byleth reeled backwards, shocked. “You told them about - ”

“ - what my once esteemed hero said to me? Yeah, I did. Denied everything, though. Said he’d never said any of that, and anyways, why would he try to poison _ anyone _ to death? That was the coward’s way to victory, whereas a real man would _ fight _ .” Claude chuckled mirthlessly. “The way he said _ coward _ and then looked at me, though - I knew it was him, or he’d ordered someone else to have it done.”

She was a woman of few words, but now she had none. She’d never imagined that his distrust stemmed from an attempt on his life, from someone he once fervently admired as a child. How could she have imagined such a twisted concept?

“Learned some valuable lessons that day,” Claude said, his grip now shifted to the outside edge of the sill, catching him as he leaned back, pulling away from the window. “Not the least of which was a healthy appreciation for poisons. But you know what’s so deeply _ wrong _ about it?”

She could hardly guess. “The whole thing seems deeply wrong, if you ask me,” she pointed out.

“Ha, well,” Claude acknowledged, releasing his grip and running a hand through his hair. “True enough. But the worst part is - I still miss that place. Despite everything, despite being shut out over and over again - I still miss Almyra.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong in that,” Byleth said softly.

A wry grin stretched over his lips, lifting up higher on one side. “Well, you’re something else, Teach.”

_ Something else, but what? _ She wanted to know, and yet at the same time - she didn’t.

“In Almyra,” Byleth said instead. “Are you Claude, Leader of the Alliance?” _ Betrothed to an Almyran princess? Or are you someone else? _

Not that it mattered, she thought insistently to herself - but if he was missing his homeland, then maybe it would help for him to talk more about it to someone who would listen. _ It won’t be my first time pretending to be somebody _. His words replayed again in her mind now.

He smiled ruefully. “No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Byleth straightened and offered her hand. “Byleth,” she said, introducing himself, hoping he’d do the same. “Daughter of a mercenary.”

He looked at her proffered hand and his smile pulled a little higher, faintly touching the corners of his eyes. “Khalid,” he said, clasping her hand in his. “Son of a…” He trailed off for a moment. “Son of a warrior.”

“Khalid,” Byleth repeated, looking up at him and then staring at their interlocked hands. How many times have they gripped each other’s arms or hands in support in the past? And yet, it felt _ different _ now. She’d never noticed how sturdy his grip was, or how calloused his fingers were - or how his touch set her alight, enticing her to _ lean in _ and -

Hastily, Byleth withdrew her hand. “Khalid,” she said once more. “Would you watch the stars with me?”

And Byleth thought as they stood there - shoulders pressed against each other as they fit onto the same window sill together, watching dusk dissipate to night - how could this perfect man _ be _, who’d suffered so much hateful torment in the past and yet still found it in himself to fight for them and build them a world beyond prejudice?

For Byleth wasn’t quite so kind-hearted. Didn’t have a heart at all, for that matter - and she promised on her missing heartbeat that if she ever met the man who’d tried to poison Claude as a child - she’d kill him, with her Fodlani coward’s blood and all; and she’d make him rue the pain he’d inflicted on the man she loved.


	18. T is for Treaties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Use me however you like,” Byleth offered. She was here to fight for his cause, and she was hardly going to complain about being useful.
> 
> Claude laughed and winked at her. “However I like? Is that a promise?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Stealth Flower again for doing the goddess Sothis' work on this chapter

“I wouldn’t have believed it a year ago, but…” Nader said, ripping into a piece of bread, “I think you lot might’ve done it. The seal of approval to open the Almyran border, however brief.” He shook his head. “Well done.”

Claude was conferring with the other Roundtable lords on the final terms of receiving Almyran aid, which left her and Nader - neither of whom were Alliance nobility - in a separate room alone, stress-eating their way through a loaf of bread. Well,  _ one _ of them was stress-eating their way through the pantry. Byleth didn’t share quite the same appetite.

“Claude told me a story of his childhood, when his interest in poisons was first kindled,” Byleth said, being purposefully vague in case Nader didn’t know the story - but she figured he might. The story Claude had shared with her had been burderning her mind ever since she learned it, and she thought - well, maybe Nader could tell her more about what Claude’s upbringing was like.

“Interest in poisons…” Nader repeated, his brow deeply furrowed, thinking. “What do you…. Oh, you mean the ordeal with his half-brother?”

Byleth blanched. “His  _ half-brother? _ ”

Nader frowned, abashed. He scratched his head. “Eh, were we not talking about the same thing?”

She hoped they weren’t - but if they were, she  _ definitely _ had to kill the man. Kill him, bring him back to life, and kill him again.

“I was… just wondering,” Byleth said slowly, trying to delicately phrase around her thoughts, “how often Claude had endured discrimination for his…”

“Ah,” Nader said, setting down the bread and placing both palms flatly down on the table, leaning back into his chair. “Often enough, I’ll say. I tried training him to fight back, but he’s not like his siblings. Always preferred to use words rather than fists, that one.” He chuckled fondly.

_ Siblings _ , Byleth thought. She hadn’t known that Claude had any siblings or half-brothers or the sort. How little did she know of him? Who  _ was _ Khalid?

A flare of anger ripped through her briefly -  _ who did he think he was, keeping his own life so private while having demanded to read her father’s diary? _ \- before she caught it. She said she’d support him, right? She supported him in his ambitions before knowing what they were, and evidently he had good reasons to keep them secret - and her trust in him there hadn’t been betrayed. Perhaps she should just trust him here too that there was a likewise reason for him to refrain from sharing the details of his Almyran life.

_ Didn’t make the boy any less of an idiot, though _ , Byleth huffed in her mind, for what she didn’t understand was why he would try to keep it a secret from  _ her _ , because what did he think she would do with that knowledge? And, frustratingly - it didn’t make her any less fond of him. Even though it  _ should _ have, damn it, because these  _ feelings _ -

“He’s gotten much better at fighting since arriving here,” Nader continued, oblivious to Byleth’s inner ramblings. “Your work as his professor, I assume?” He grinned, and it was almost feral. “As his former teacher in the combat arts, I’d like to challenge you to a duel. Teacher against teacher - should be fun, eh?”

_ Former teacher - ? _ Nader the Undefeated was Claude’s  _ combat instructor _ growing up?

She wasn’t jealous. She had her father, the Blade Breaker, as her instructor, and she’d have it no other way. But what had afforded Claude the privilege of receiving instruction from  _ Nader the Undefeated _ ?

She’d previously supposed that he might be a noble in Almyra, but it must be more than that, she realized. He must be a prominent noble - or, an affluent one, or however nobility worked in Almyra. Perhaps something of similar standing as the Duke of House Riegan in the Alliance.

If so… no wonder Claude would keep his heritage under such a tightly closed lid. If it got out that he had high-ranking noble connections in Almyra, well - that would just put more weight behind Count Gloucester’s previous argument that Claude was working to weaken the Alliance to the benefit of Almyra. Not that she believed it at all - but they couldn’t afford any reason for the other lords to doubt him.

_ In that case, he wouldn’t need a betrothal to secure the Almyran army after all _ , Byleth thought errantly.

“What do you say?” Nader said, then continued with a wink, “Unless you don’t think you could take me on…”

Right. He’d asked her to spar, hadn’t he? Before her mind had started whirring off on its own.

“Are you sure you won’t mind losing your undefeated title?” Byleth said, tilting her head.

Nader barked in laughter. “We’ll see about that! Shall we?” He stood. “Beats waiting around here anyways.”

Byleth offered a slight smile. Now  _ that _ was a sentiment she could understand.

* * *

Her father had taught her the basics of foreign techniques, yes - but it had been a while since she’d studied up on them, and Nader the Undefeated was hardly employing the  _ basics _ of Almyran fighting styles. Meanwhile, being in Fodlan, Nader didn’t need to  _ study up _ on Fodlani styles at all, given that he was regularly training against it.

Nader won the first bout handily, but she won the second and the third - albeit by a narrow margin. Afterwards, they didn’t have the energy to make it out of the training grounds, collapsing on a grassy area and staring up at the clouds. It was like this when Claude walked in, finding them lying down with their weapons scattered around them.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you threw the first bout,” Nader said after they’d had some time to catch their breath.

“I didn’t throw anything,” Byleth countered evenly.

“Maybe you didn’t  _ throw _ it, but you certainly didn’t try to  _ win _ it,” Nader grumbled. “You conserved your energy with only defensive maneuvers while learning my technique, didn’t you?”

She had. But it wasn’t like she wasn’t trying to win, as he was suggesting. He had just caught her off-guard for a moment and won before she had the chance to turn the tables, like she had originally been planning.

Before Byleth could articulate any of this, however, a new voice interrupted. “What’s going on here? This is a tripping hazard,” Claude said, kicking the hilt of Nader’s axe over by an inch. He loomed over them, amusement in his eyes. “Didn’t your fighting instructors teach you any better?”

“Down, kiddo,” Nader said, waving a hand in the air. “You’re blocking the sun.”

Byleth rolled over, pressing herself halfway up. “Is the deed signed?” she asked.

A smile broke out then. “Yes, it is,” Claude said, his own exhaustion becoming palpable. “I see you two didn’t waste time sitting around, though.”

“Saw that you shaped up in your fighting these past years and I wanted to see the cause first hand,” Nader said. “Now that I have, I can say that she’s  _ good _ . About to throw my headscarf in with her lot. Anyways, move, will ya? You’re still blocking the sun.”

Byleth  _ did _ press herself fully up this time. “Headscarf?” she repeated, looking between Claude and Nader - the former of whom had stilled, and the latter of whom had hardly noticed, trying to inch his way out of Claude’s shadow while still lying down in his quest for sunshine. “So it  _ is _ a submissive thing!” And Claude had been trying to get her to wear one, like a subordinate! Who did he think he was?

Nader paused, then propped himself up on his elbows. “What?”

“Giving someone your headscarf,” Byleth said. “It’s a submissive thing, isn’t it?”

If it was… Claude had something coming for him. She wasn’t sure what it was yet, but it would be something he should be afraid of.

Nader’s eyes widened, and Byleth was reminded of their introduction when he’d been desperately trying to backpedal from calling Claude by an affectionate nickname. “Ah - it’s a turn of phrase,” Nader said slowly. “Where had you heard about headscarves before?”

Byleth turned to Claude, waiting for him to answer. But for once, he wasn’t eager to jump to explanations, with his lips sealed tight and his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Claude said it,” Byleth said, throwing him an accusing look that he didn’t acknowledge, refusing to look at her. “He wanted me to wear his headscarf.”

Nader made a slight choking sound, now scrambling up to a seat as well. “Well,  _ wearing _ a headscarf and  _ giving _ a headscarf, they - sound the same, yeah, but they’re - Master Claude’s right, leaving all these weapons around on the grass is dangerous. I ought to put them away - “

“Don’t you go,” Byleth said, her tone clipped - and apparently her professor’s voice could work on seasoned war generals, too. “ _ Claude _ .”

Claude turned to face her slowly, scratching the back of his neck - and  _ still _ not making eye contact with her. “Well,  _ giving _ someone your headscarf… that’s a sign of respect,” he said. “Colloquially, it’s used to say that you’re impressed by someone.”

“And if you wear it?” Byleth pressed.

His eyes flickered to hers briefly, and there was something almost panicked and honest about his posture that almost made Byleth feel a little sorry.  _ Almost _ .

He hadn’t come clean to her about his Almyran upbringing, which was  _ fine _ . The least he could do would be to come clean about  _ this _ , and why he’d asked her to don his headscarf all those months ago.

“It’s... a mark of  _ mutual  _ respect,” Claude said. “That you honor the person who gave you their scarf to the same degree.”

“So,” Byleth said, rolling the concept around in her mind, “like brothers in arms?” He’d made the request after meeting Lord Gwendal’s army in the Valley of Torment, after they’d faced the  _ first _ of their former classmates in battle. It had to involve camaraderie somehow, right?

“I - yeah,” Claude said, looking a little deflated, as if the conversation had sapped all the energy he had remaining after the conference. And now Byleth  _ did _ feel a little sorry, and she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed as well. She’d almost dared to hope that he might contradict her, that it might mean something  _ more _ , but - no, of course it wouldn’t. She was being  _ ridiculous  _ for even entertaining the idea. “Something like that.”

Byleth nodded, squashing down the way her chest felt a shade more hollow. It was just a platonic thing, and she’d have to accept that. “In which case, Nardel, I’d be willing to accept your headscarf, but you’ll have to best me again in a duel before I’ll consider wearing it.”

Nader chuckled, shaking his head with bewilderment. “For some reason, I think that day might never come,” he said cryptically, even though the odds of him beating her in a duel were quite real - given how close the results of their spar was. He stood, dusting himself from grass stains; and by the time he straightened, his stance was formal, marking the end of the conversation. “Congratulations on the successful negotiation, Master Claude. I must now attend to these weapons.” He started collecting the array of battle axes from the ground, and this time, Byleth did not stop him.

“You know I respect you,” Byleth said to Claude quietly when Nader had left. “I don’t need a headscarf to prove that.”

Because in the end, behind the charismatic bravado and the confounding  _ idiocy _ that was sometimes Claude, there was that boy who had been betrayed by his  _ half-brother _ and had been struggling to find his place in society ever since. And despite her frustration with him at the moment - and her frustration with  _ herself  _ at the moment - it didn’t change the underlying truth that he was someone she’d kill for and die for.

A corner of his lips tilted upwards. “You beat Nader, I presume?”

“I did,” Byleth said.  _ So much for the Undefeated _ .

“Don’t let him ever best you in that spar, all right?” he said.

Byleth could’ve scoffed. “Despite what you two both seem to think,” Byleth said dryly, “I don’t go around throwing matches. When was the last time I had  _ ever _ gone easy on you?”

“Fair point,” Claude acknowledged, before a teasing gleam took ahold of him. “But I think I could beat you now. If you have the same criteria for me to wear  _ my _ headscarf.”

Of  _ course _ he’d challenge her now, now that she was exhausted from a grueling match with Nader. Ever the clever cheat, he was. Even so, it wasn’t like he needed to prove himself with her. She’d already said she’d wear his damn headscarf back in Ailell, hadn’t she?

“Why don’t you pour me a glass of scotch instead,” she said, rolling her neck. She was going to be sore tomorrow. “Let’s celebrate your achievement today.”

“I think you mean  _ our  _ achievement,” Claude corrected. “C’mon, Teach. Let’s rally the others.”

* * *

With the treaty signed, there wasn’t much excuse for their company to linger in Derdriu. They were set to return to Garret Mach the next day to plan for the next incursion, while Holst would oversee the safe passage of the Almyran troops into Fódlan and chart their route to the Stubborn Old General.

But that still left  _ tonight _ , and Claude was hosting a feast.

“These times are certainly tumultuous indeed, but I shall bear an optimistic outlook on Fodlan’s path forward,” Count Gloucester said to Byleth over his glass of wine. “Indeed, should we capture this fortress, the odds shall swing wildly in our favor. I put faith in your plan, Archbishop.”

Byleth didn’t really know how to respond to that, so she just inclined her head.

“The Professor has never failed us before, Father,” Lorenz promised, speaking for her. “She is as sage as she is skilled.”

“You do me great honor, Lorenz,” Byleth said, and Lorenz preened.

“History will not forget our names with the treaty we have signed,” Margrave Edmund said, stepping into the conversation. “I pray that it agrees with the wisdom of our choices, rather than mocking us for fools.”

The posturing was getting to be a bit much, especially considering how nastily their arguments had turned on Claude only a few days ago. But these were the allies that they needed to keep, so Byleth did what she was best at and kept her mouth shut.

“Between the two, I would rather be remembered as a man who trusted in the good faith of humanity than a man who trusted not  _ enough _ ,” Holst said, approaching their party. He sent a smile Byleth’s way, and with the treaty now signed, she found that he was no longer stiff with obligation and formalities. In his relaxed demeanor, some of his mannerisms resembled his sister’s so much so that Byleth wondered how she’d ever thought that they were contrary to each other. “You don’t mind if I borrow the Archbishop for a moment?”

If Byleth hadn’t known better, she would’ve said that Sothis was listening to her internal prayer and answered with a blessing. The other lords of course couldn’t say  _ no _ , and Holst provided her an escape as he led her to an unoccupied corner of the room.

“I really am glad to have finally met you,” Holst said earnestly. “Hilda’s written much about you in her letters.”

“I’m told you were the one who enrolled Hilda into the academy,” Byleth said, because after the events of the month, she highly doubted that Holst had pulled her aside to talk about  _ her _ . It was far more likely that he was seeking her opinion about his younger sister. “I’m glad you did. It’s been my pleasure getting to know her and watching her grow.”

He smiled, proud and fond all at once. “She’s really started to come into her own, hasn’t she?” he said, looking over to where Hilda was talking with Marianne. He chuckled, leaning in and lowering his voice. “You know, Hilda thinks she knows how to play me. And I’ll admit, it took me some good long years before I figured out what she was doing. But it was obvious she was trying to persuade me to side with Claude on this negotiation.”

Byleth hadn’t realized Holst was so astute, given that Hilda painted him as a man more valiant than reasonable. But she supposed that she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Hilda had several layers of secret cunning to her, and no doubt Holst - who’d been expected to lead the Alliance until Claude had shown up - could be similarly clever. “What made you agree anyways?” Byleth wondered.

“Hilda doesn’t involve herself in matters like these much,” Holst confessed. “So to see her truly  _ try _ and fight for what she believes in - albeit in her own special way - well, it must be an important cause, right?” He shook his head. “That, and I’ve been speaking with  _ Nardel _ . He’s a fine fellow, and getting to know him makes me inclined to think that Claude’s right about this whole thing.”

So he knew of Nader’s true identity. She’d figured as much ever since Nader and Holst had skipped breakfast, both too hungover from drinking with each other until the crack of dawn the night before.

“When did you realize…?”

Holst grinned sheepishly. “Well, that took me longer than I’d like to admit. Perhaps a week or two ago,” Holst said. “I hadn’t said anything - because, well, the situation then hardly required more material to fuel the tension - but I hadn’t approached him until I realized just how passionate Hilda was about the whole thing.”

“I appreciate your discretion,” Byleth said honestly. Was that why Holst had been so quiet and reserved those past weeks, doing far more listening than talking in the discussions?

Heavens, imagine if he  _ hadn’t _ withheld that information. She’d rather not think about it. Instead, Byleth found that she was quickly adding herself to the long list of people who admired the young Goneril general.

“I should’ve approached him earlier, really,” Holst said. “He’s rather like me, I think. Or maybe I’m rather like him. Makes you wonder about things that could’ve been in another reality. I think we could’ve been longtime friends.”

With piqued interest, Byleth realized - wasn’t this revelation exactly what Claude had been hoping for with his dream? Perhaps it was closer than they thought.

“Anyways, I’m told that you defeated Nardel in a duel,” Holst said, folding his arms. “I’m sorry you’ll be leaving so soon before I could chance to test your blade.”

“I’m sure the opportunity will arise,” Byleth said. And then she added, “Besides, I’m not certain you’re ready to take me on just yet.”

Holst threw his head back and laughed. “If such a taunt came from anyone else, I would challenge them here and now,” he said. “But I’ve seen how precise Hilda’s axe throw has become after a year under your tutelage. So just this once - I’ll let it slide.” He exhaled a sigh - one that was long, happy, and content. “Cruel of the two of you to duel when I could not spectate, however,” he said, though his tone was light-hearted.

“I’ll keep that in mind when we next schedule an impromptu training session,” Byleth said dryly.

“Please,” Holst said, smiling. “That’s all I ask.”

* * *

“Well, we did it,” Claude said. The feast had run its course, and everyone else had retired to their rooms or gone off in their own smaller groups seeking entertainment. Only her former students lingered, and it was at them that Claude was grinning broadly. “And I know it was hardly my  _ charm  _ that convinced everyone to let Almyran troops in and for the lords to donate as many supplies to the cause as they did, so thank you all. Especially you, Lorenz - I doubt Count Gloucester would have bent without you appealing to him.”

Lorenz inclined his head. “I must admit, I have valued my father’s esteem for as long as I can remember. To pursue a stance contrary to his own - it is strange, and yet I feel as I have for the first time stepped out of his shadow,” he confessed. He paused, mulling in introspection. “Of course, my father is a pious man, so the Professor being committed to our cause helped sway his point of view.”

“Yes,” Claude agreed heartily. “I hope you didn’t feel like I used you, Teach, because - well, I kind of used you.”

“Use me however you like,” Byleth offered. She was here to fight for his cause, and she was hardly going to complain about being  _ useful _ .

Claude laughed and winked at her. “However I like? Is that a  _ promise _ ?”

Byleth felt her face heat.  _ Ah - shit - _

She hadn’t realized the innuendo in her words were until they came from Claude’s lips - and even worse… she  _ liked _ it. Some traitorous part of her who forgot that she was her own proud individual  _ wanted _ to continue exploring this path, of what Claude might mean when he said he’d  _ use _ her with so much suggestion laced into his tone.

And it was all some big, cosmic joke because she knew what Claude really  _ did _ mean, and that he wasn’t serious about it at all. He was just throwing her words back in her face in good fun like he always did, pointing out how awkward she could be when it came to the verbal arts.

“Stop teasing the Professor,  _ Claude _ ,” Hilda said, exasperated. “You’re making it  _ weird _ .”

“Sorry, Teach,” Claude grinned, not looking remotely sorry at all. “Couldn’t resist. You make it too easy.”

If she’d been at all like herself lately, this would be the point where she’d say something dry to put Claude in his place. But her mind was wiped blank, and so she just folded her arms and remained silent.

“Anyways, rest up well tonight. We’ve got a long journey back tomorrow.” And then he fixed his gaze on Byleth and his eyes were alight with an excitement and if Byleth’s mind wasn’t devoid of thought before, it definitely was now. “Except for you, Teach. I’ve got something to show you, if you’ve got the time.”

And for no concrete reason whatsoever, Byleth’s pulse quickened with anticipation as he led her outside. Well, that was a lie. She knew why - and it was because since her realization that she was actually  _ in love _ with the man before her, she’d been learning just how deep it went. It wasn’t some passing fancy, but something that crippled her into an absolutely pathetic, desperate wreck of a human being incapable of coherent thought or reasonable emotion.

But then, how could she  _ not _ be in love with him? She’d been accused many times of being too stoic and serious in the past, but she never felt that way around Claude - perhaps because his charm, both the honest and the feigned, lifted her up as well. And yet he was also a deeply earnest person, who despite every bit of hate and prejudice the world had inflicted upon him, held tightly to noble dreams to help those around him. He was someone whose fake smiles weren’t a cover for something wicked, but rather an attempt to obscure the pain of his past. He was brilliant, he was beautiful, and - there was something about when he fixed his gaze on hers, and it felt more than just  _ trust _ but rather  _ value _ , like there was no one’s thoughts he’d rather hear but  _ hers _ and it made her feel - 

_ Fuck _ . She was doing it again. She was -  _ ugh. _ Byleth could only imagine what Sothis would think of her now, disintegrated into such an emotional mess hidden behind that blasé mask she’d perfected over the years.

Pathetic, desperate wreck of a human. She was  _ better _ than this.

_ Where _ was Claude taking her anyways? The stables? To see -

_ Oh _ .

He stopped in front of a large pen, behind which a white wyvern was seated, awake. It was larger than any wyvern Byleth had seen, with gleaming red eyes that seemed unnaturally intelligent, watching them as they approached.

Byleth had never been fascinated by wyverns and pegasi like other children in the villages she’d stayed in growing up. Her father’s horse was the only animal she’d ever really cared enough about to even  _ like _ . But she couldn’t deny that there was something otherworldly in  _ this _ wyvern’s beauty, holding itself up so regally, unapologetic in its difference from other wyverns.

“Nader brought him over for me,” Claude said quietly, though the volume did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm. “His name is Aldebaran.”

“Aldebaran,” Byleth repeated, trying the syllables on her tongue.

“It’s a star,” Claude said. “It trails after a cluster of seven stars - Altharia - though Aldebaran shines brighter than any of them.  _ The bright one of the follower _ . That’s what its name means in Almyra, anyways. As a kid, I told myself that one day, I’d have a wyvern and name him after that star - a star that was an outsider but held its own in its place in the sky.”

“It’s a perfect name,” Byleth said. A white wyvern named for a star, by a boy who mapped his dreams in the sky. “It fits him.”

“Thanks, Teach,” he said, and his grin was a little lopsided. “It just - all these things I’d dreamt of as a kid, when I didn’t know much about the world - it feels like they’re all starting to come to life, and - ” He took his hands into hers, and Byleth worried that he might hear how fleeting her pulse was. But instead he simply wrapped her hand within his and squeezed it. “I meant what I said in the Goddess Tower back then. I’d love for you to share in those dreams with me.”

Did he know what he was doing to her with those words of his, inducing stomach flips and inspiring dreams of her own that she couldn’t -  _ shouldn’t _ \- give breath to?

Dreams of them. Dreams of…

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, my friend,” Claude confessed, and her stomach felt suspended, knotted, while her thoughts were unraveling - 

_ My friend. My friend. My friend _ .

She was his friend. His  _ friend _ . She had to remember that.  _ Had to _ .

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, either,” Byleth said honestly.

She had to remember that, because if she didn’t - she might lose herself. She might lose herself to a dream of the two of them together in a way that would never be, and in doing that - she might lose  _ him _ forever.

_ My friend _ .

She forced herself to say it back. “I’m walking this path with you, my friend.”

It would have to be good enough.


	19. T is for Trinkets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the war, Hilda had made sure that some traditions were still celebrated.
> 
> “The roses will wilt soon, Professor,” she had wheedled. “It’s the Garland Moon. Besides, don’t you think giving white rose garlands would serve as a great boost to morale?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay StealthFlower for working through this chapter - thank you!!

The voices in the monastery courtyard were unmistakable, even from a distance.

“Hit me!”

“No, Raphael, that’s  _ blackjack _ \- we’re playing five card draw - ”

They’d just arrived back at Garreg Mach from Derdriu, and Byleth’s immediate plan had been to dump her belongings in her room and take a relaxing break in the sauna. But then she caught Claude’s eye and saw the grin starting to form on his lips, and she knew that whatever his immediate plans had been had also changed.

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Raphael’s voice floated over. “I’ll never get all these rules straight. There’s too many of them - ”

Byleth turned the corner to find a picnic blanket sprawled on the grass, and atop it sat Raphael, Leonie, Ignatz, and Fidget, circled around a deck of cards.

It was jarring to see her old students playing poker out in the open like this. It wasn’t so long ago that she had snuck off alone under the cover of night to make some side cash, and to now see that underbelly of her life being flaunted in the middle of the monastery? With Raphael and Leonie and  _ Ignatz _ roped in? Byleth was hardly the conventional professor, but she couldn’t help but vaguely feel like she’d led her students terribly, terribly astray with this one.

“ _ So _ , Fidget,” Claude said as they came up, arms folded in a pseudo-interrogation. “Any of these aspiring, virtuous knights have a secret knack for gambling? Or are you just fleecing them for their pebbles’ worth?”

Fidget barely spared them a glance. “This one has trouble bluffing,” he said, nodding at Ignatz, “ _ this _ one has trouble concealing her emotions, and  _ this _ one…” He trails off, tilting his head at Raphael. “This one has trouble keeping the rules straight. So I suppose yes, I’m just fleecing them for their pebbles’ worth. But what’s his name - Yuri, the one you  _ didn’t _ go on a date with - now  _ there’s _ someone good at cards.”

Leonie looked up, a determined scowl set on her face. “You’re only fleecing me  _ for now _ ,” she insisted. “I’m still learning. Don’t count me out yet. I’ll win those pebbles back.”

Fidget laughed. “Where have I heard  _ that _ before?” he said. He winked at Leonie. “You know, that’s what people usually say right before they lose  _ all _ of their savings.”

When she spotted the beginnings of outrage in Leonie’s expression, Byleth supplied, “My father struggled with cards, too.”

Leonie was incredulous. “Captain  _ Jeralt _ wasn’t good at cards?”

Byleth shook her head. “He hated it when I played,” she said. “Though I’m not sure if he hated the game because he was bad, or if he was bad  _ because _ he hated the game and therefore never had the practice.”

Leonie still looked dubious but, after a moment, she relented. She sighed, setting her cards down and acknowledged defeat. “Well, I guess that means we’re done for the day,” she said finally. “How was the conference? Did you get the other lords to buy into the plan?”

Before their entourage departed for Derdriu, Claude had shared his ambitions with the rest of the Golden Deer and his scheme to loop Almyra into battle. And after the political fighting they’d had to do to get that scheme approved, Byleth felt an appreciation for how frank Leonie was about it all and how she spoke as if the plan’s success should be  _ obvious _ \- especially since Byleth knew that Leonie, too, had initially been skeptical of entreating another country to aid in Fodlan’s civil war.

Claude grinned. “Of course, how could the other lords resist the combined force of my charm and Teach’s intimidation techniques?” he said easily, slinging an arm over her shoulder. He threw a wink at Byleth, and her pulse flared wildly in response.

_ Friend, friend, friend _ , Byleth chanted in her mind. It would be so easy to melt, to lean in closer to Claude’s side. Her shoulder tingled beneath his grasp.  _ Friend, friend, friend. For fuck’s sake, Byleth, don’t make this weird _ .

“I knew you could do it,” Ignatz said, beaming. “The two of you are truly unstoppable. Watching you work is like watching history being written.”

Byleth shot Claude a glare and fought against the inertia to leave his arm wrapped around her. She had to -  _ focus _ . She shrugged him off and said, “It didn’t go  _ quite _ as Claude described, but - yes, we’re moving forward as planned. The Almyran army will meet us at the fortress, and once we take it, we’ll be able to press on to take Enbarr.”

Ignatz shook his head. “Enbarr, the capital of the Empire,” he said, musing it over. “I’m ready for this war to end, but… I’m not sure I’m ready for  _ that _ battle just yet.”

She understood him completely. The wounds of Ailell hadn’t yet healed, and storming Enbarr would reopen them. Storming Enbarr meant facing Edelgard and Hubert and whoever else that managed to survive the Ailell interception.

“Well, some training will help you feel more prepared,” Raphael said, flexing his biceps and pumping his fist into the air. “Speaking of which - maybe the King of Grappling is free for a rematch.” And without any further ado, he scrambled up and ran off.

Byleth blinked after him, unsure of what had just happened. Ignatz explained, “He’s been hounding Balthus a lot lately for duels. I can’t tell if Balthus has been getting annoyed or if he secretly likes the attention - but it’s one of the two.” He scratched his head. “But I suppose Raphael  _ does _ have a point. I should probably be training, too.” He turned to Fidget. “Thanks for the game.”

“Same,” Leonie piped up, “and I  _ will _ beat you in poker one day. I  _ promise _ .”

Fidget watched her go. “Strongheaded, that one,” he commented. And then - once they were out of sight - he released a loud sigh that fully deflated him and laid back onto the grass, staring at the sky. 

“So,” he said monotonously. Back to business, then. “Take the fortress, then take the capital. What’s next?”

She knew why he asked. No doubt the idea of having to infiltrate the very cult he was running away from had been wearing Fidget thin, shadowing him like a stormcloud.

But, they  _ still _ didn’t know enough about Those who Slither to form a cohesive plan of action. Fidget had been able to provide an approximate location for one of the entrances to their headquarters, but that was the extent of the intel. Byleth didn’t know what their motives were, or what sort of experiments that they were actually running. Sending Fidget and Shamir in to sleuth out information was still the best option they had. And from the grave, resigned look on Fidget’s face, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“The fortress first,” Byleth said, pretending not to notice how Fidget’s posture relaxed ever so slightly. “The more pressure we put on the Empire, the more they’ll have to draw out their forces from their ranks to back Edelgard.”

“Right. The safest time for you to begin your mission will be during the most chaotic time for  _ us _ ,” Claude agreed.

Fidget exhaled slowly. “Much as I want this to never happen - I also just want to get it over with,” he confessed under his breath. “Goddess, how did I end up here?”

Byleth wondered that regularly about herself, too. “We should discuss with Seteth and Yuri,” she said.

“ _ Right _ ,” Claude said again, though it sounded a little more forced this time. “But maybe that can wait until after dinner. Long journey back, and all that.”

“Long journey ahead, too,” Byleth pointed out, but she acquiesced. She  _ did _ want to spend a  _ few _ minutes in the sauna to unwind and recalibrate.

“Great,” Fidget said. “You all go. I’ll tell the others when we’re going to be discussing my death sentence.” He flopped down onto the grass and stared at the afternoon sky, muttering to himself. “How, oh  _ how _ did I end up here.”

* * *

Despite the war, Hilda had made sure that some traditions were still celebrated.

“The roses will wilt soon, Professor,” she had wheedled. “It’s the  _ Garland Moon _ . Besides, don’t you think giving white rose garlands would serve as a great boost to morale?”

Somehow, Byleth had been persuaded to take a break on the eve of battle, braiding together the roses that Hilda had spent all week picking. She’d never actually  _ followed _ this tradition before - her father, while full of stories, had never sat down and showed her how to weave roses, oddly enough. Thus, in the time it took Byleth to weave one lumpy-looking garland, Hilda had  _ four _ already lined up, each of them impossibly better looking than Byleth’s.

And so Byleth wandered the monastery with one sad-looking garland in tow, intending to deposit it into her room where no one could see it, when she was intercepted by Claude.

“Teach,” he beckoned, brightening as he saw her from across the way. “I’ve been looking for you.”

They usually reviewed their battle plans the night before - no doubt that was why Claude was looking for her,  _ and no other reason _ . “Hilda forced me to take a break,” Byleth said. “I’m available now.”

His eyes followed her arm downwards, landing on the roses that were being crushed in her fist. Something in Claude’s expression tightened - but only for a moment, and it was so brief that Byleth thought that she might have imagined it. “Now Teach, correct me if I’m wrong, but… is that a  _ garland _ ?”

Byleth resisted the urge to hide it behind her back. “Yes,” she said evenly.

He stepped closer to inspect it, lifting her hand up and unclenching her grip. “Your handiwork, I presume?” he said, a teasing lilt now in his voice as he straightened some of the wrinkled petals. “It does seem like the product of a novice artisan.”

_ That bastard _ . She  _ knew _ she hadn’t done a great job with her garland, but did he really  _ have _ to point it out like that? “You - ” Byleth started, but then she looked down at the roses in her hand and she had to admit - it  _ did _ look ridiculous. “Fine. Yes. You’re right, I made it.”

“Certainly it’s one of a kind,” Claude allowed, chuckling. “So…” He rocked onto the back of his heels. “Who’s the lucky recipient?”

_ The lucky recipient? _ Byleth wondered, before remembering that garlands were made to be given as gifts to friends. Well,  _ most _ garlands.  _ Her _ garland was less of a  _ gift _ and more of a  _ burden _ , and the kindest thing to do would be to bury it.

But, if her garland amused Claude so much, then _ he _ could take it. “You,” Byleth decided, dumping the rope of roses into his arms. It was  _ his _ problem now. “Congratulations.”

“I - ” Claude looked down at the flowers and when he looked back up again, there was something - almost…  _ tender _ in his gaze? 

Was he going to apologize for mocking her handiwork? If he thought that a  _ Sorry, Teach _ would make her take the garland back, he had another thing coming for him.

“By the way, it’s rude to return a gift,” she said, cutting him off. “Or to regift it.”

“I would do nothing of the sort,” he said, more sincerely than she’d anticipated. He gently coiled the garland around his arm, treating it with more care than Byleth ever had, before wrapping his hands around hers.

His hands were warm.

“Byleth,” he said, squeezing her hands - and, was that the first time he’d ever used her name? Byleth’s mind was now drawing totally blank, and Claude -  _ he _ seemed torn, as if he were trying to hold himself back from something. “If - If this means… well, I would like to do this  _ right _ .”

Do - do  _ what  _ right?

“You’ll tell me about how you want this to go?” he said hopefully, not letting go of her hands - and she could hardly focus because of it. “And I’ll do it.”

What did he say he was going to do?

“Tell me what to do, my friend,” he said quietly, insistently.

Her thoughts stuttered, and something deep inside her burned.  _ Kiss me _ , she wanted to say, but that wasn’t what friends did.

“Sleep well,” she said instead, “and win us the battle tomorrow.”

Claude laughed. “So that’s how it’s going to be,” he said, amused. He let go of her hands and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and her skin burned hot where his fingertips brushed against her. “I’ll go to sleep tonight, but only because you asked. You wouldn’t want to join me, would you?”

He grinned, and it widened with Byleth’s flush - because they were standing close enough together now where she could smell his scent - earthy, salty, with a spice to it that was uniquely  _ Claude _ \- and now she couldn’t help but imagine that scent  _ everywhere _ , lingering on bedsheets that were wrapped between tangled limbs and -

\- and if he  _ knew _ what his teasing was doing to her, or rather, how it was completely  _ un _ doing her -

\- because it wouldn’t be the first time, after all, that she’d used sex to calm pre-battle nerves. Not that she made a habit of it like some others that she knew, such as those mercs whose tents her father had set up as far away from  _ hers _ as possible. But on the few occasions she  _ did _ use sex as an outlet, they had been purely physical transactions uncomplicated by emotion or genuine love.

And she couldn’t do that with Claude, as much as she might want to, because it would ruin what they had. Because to accept his (admittedly) facetiously-given invitation would be forcing him into something more than he had bargained for. Because it wouldn’t  _ just _ be sex that she wanted from him, and it would be dishonest to pretend that it was.

Byleth took a step back and breathed in the fresh night air.

“Maybe next time,” she suggested - because as much as she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to resist a second invite, the idea of Claude  _ never _ inviting her to his bed - joking though he may be - was an even more dreadful concept. “If we successfully take Fort Merceus tomorrow.”

“You know, most people ask for things smaller than a  _ fortress _ , but I should’ve known that you’re not most people. Of course you wouldn’t come easy,” Claude said. “But, you leave me no choice. Consider Fort Merceus yours.”

And Byleth wasn’t entirely sure  _ what _ in Fodlan’s name Claude was talking about - but she liked it anyway.

She smiled. “Good night, Claude. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He smiled back, her roses still wrapped around his arm.

* * *

But despite fulfilling his promise to win the battle, he failed to give her Fort Merceus, because - well - the spoils of the fortress now lay in rubble, thanks to  _ javelins of light _ raining from the sky.

Byleth had never heard anything like it, let alone borne witness to something so catastrophic. An entire fortress, completely pulverised within moments. Her ears had rung for what seemed like hours afterwards, and everyone had been grasping at each other and  _ screaming _ and no one was hearing  _ anything _ .

_ What _ had happened?  _ How _ could it have happened?

Claude had been quick to push the troops into a safer location and quickly pivot the mood into one of festivity through the liberal use of alcohol. It was a wise move on his part. The soldiers needed a morale boost, and the implications of the javelins were something that the commanders needed to absorb first.

Thereafter, the Almyran troops taught the rest how they celebrated victories with tall campfires, dancing, and drinking. It was a lively atmosphere, once one successfully drank enough to forget that they’d witnessed magical missiles crumble a fortress into ashes.

She scanned over the campsite, weaving her way through Fodlani and Almyran fighters alike. Their situation was stable - a brittle peace, perhaps, but for now, it was good enough. The soldiers were intermingling and the mass hysteria had been mostly managed. There was nothing left to oversee - just items left to  _ discuss _ .

But before she could reach the officer’s tent, one Almyran soldier caught her gaze and grinned. He was on the younger side of things, seated at a fire beside a few others. She nodded at him once in greeting, and maybe nodding meant something different in Almyra - because it prompted him to whisper a few words to his friend before approaching her and rattling something off in a foreign tongue that Byleth didn’t understand.

But then he slung together “For you” with a thick accent, untying his scarf from around his head and holding it towards her.

_ Ah _ . Now she understood. “Thank you,” Byleth said, accepting it.

A grin broke out on his face and he began speaking very quickly in Almyran, excitement palpable in his voice. She had no idea what he was going on about, but she’d be polite and listen for a few moments longer before extracting herself to figure out what was up with those damn  _ javelins of light _ -

A hand wrapped tightly around her wrist that was still raised from accepting the scarf. On instinct, Byleth rotated her wrist and yanked it out, her off hand reaching for a dagger before she realized - 

The attacker was  _ Claude _ . What in the  _ world _ was he doing?

He didn’t flinch but just dropped his hand, speaking a few clipped words to the Almyran soldier that immediately wiped the boy’s smile. The boy nodded quickly, clapped a fist to his heart in salute, and hurriedly slunk off - and Byleth hardly had time to wonder  _ why _ he was destroying the morale of one of his soldiers, because he was rounding on  _ her _ , demanding, “Why did you take that?”

_ Take what? _ The only thing she’d wanted to take was  _ Fort Merceus _ \- the fortress that they’d schemed for so long to take over - had been turned to ash by technology that should not have existed. What was he going off about?

She followed his gaze to the fabric she was still holding in her fist.  _ Oh. We’re talking about  _ this  _ instead? _

“You said it was a symbol of respect,” Byleth said. “It would be rude to reject.”

“A symbol of respect,” Claude repeated, almost incredulous. “You can’t still believe that.”

“ _ You _ told me as much,” Byleth said evenly, her eyes narrowing slightly with accusation. “Why wouldn’t I believe it?”

“You can’t still believe it’s simply  _ respect _ . I just said it - because - ” He huffed, running a hand through his hair, agitated. “It’s only  _ colloquially  _ used as slang for being impressed. To be so impressed by someone that you’d proposition them there and now. The  _ action _ of giving someone your headscarf still means that you’re contending for courtship.”

_ Courtship? _ He’d never used that term before. She would’ve remembered, because - well,  _ she would have remembered _ . Why hadn’t he been upfront with her about the meaning of headscarf gift-giving to begin with?

“Unless - ” He faltered with a sudden realization that made him withdraw into himself slightly. Green eyes flickered to the ground and then back up to capture hers. “Unless you  _ wanted _ him to court you?”

“No, I - ” Byleth paused, trying to sort through her confusion. “Why would he have wanted to court me? I’ve never spoken to him before.” Not that she could’ve, given the obvious language barrier. It just didn’t make any sense. Who would try to court someone they couldn’t talk to?

“He would’ve seen you fight, though,” Claude said, a little offhandedly. Whatever rage had propelled him earlier seemed to have dissipated entirely, leaving behind someone who seemed unsure of his place. “Physical strength and combat prowess are very, ah,  _ attractive _ traits in Almyra. It’s easy to see why he’d be smitten, but for him to proposition you is unduly ambitious.”

Byleth hardly heard the second half of his statement, too caught up on the first.  _ It’s easy to see why he’d be smitten _ . Was it? Was Claude speaking hypothetically, from the point of view of an Almyran, or could he possibly  _ relate _ to why someone might admire her? In that case, could  _ he _ be persuaded to view her from that same angle?

But something still didn’t line up. If it were  _ suitors _ that offered their headscarves to prospective partners and wearing headscarves indicated a returned and equal affection - was the act of wearing a headscarf the equivalent to a betrothal? But then why would Claude…?

“You asked me to wear your headscarf,” she said slowly, and Claude flushed. “But you never  _ gave _ me anything. You say there’s a marked difference between giving a headscarf and wearing one, and yet another difference between  _ saying _ that you’ll gift a headscarf and actually giving one.” She fixed a sharp gaze on him. “So. What did you mean then?”

Claude looked around at the surrounding Almyran army and then tried to throw on an easy smile. Like  _ that _ would work on her, especially after he’d raged in here grabbing her by surprise and scaring off his own men. “Ehhh…. I don’t think this is the best time and place for me to say,” he said.

He was ill at ease, which told her that whatever he meant - he meant it in  _ earnest _ . That it truly had something to do with his affections - romantic or not - because nothing made Claude more uncomfortable than being honest.

And for the first time, Byleth allowed her mind to wander.  _ Could _ he love her? Could he already be in love with her? But how was she to know, if he’d never  _ said _ anything, when he kept calling her  _ my friend? _

And last night, when he’d acted so peculiarly, asking her what she wanted him to do… She hadn’t thought much of it at the time - mostly because she’d been rendered incapable of any logical thinking - but did that have anything to do with this?

She narrowed her eyes at Claude and his elusiveness, though he  _ did  _ have a point. She shoved her thoughts aside to analyze later and swallowed. “One day, you  _ will _ give me answers,” she threatened him, then she shook her head. “Come on. Let’s go.”

They had javelins to talk about.

* * *

Lysithea hadn’t waited for their arrival to start hypothesizing what those javelins were.

“How  _ vexing _ ,” she was saying, bent over the center table in the officers’ tent and hurriedly flipping through pages. “None of the books I packed say anything about what we saw today being even remotely  _ possible _ .”

“ _ I’m _ impressed you even  _ packed _ books,” Leonie mused, squinting at the titles. “I mean, it’s not like battle missions are known for their downtime.”

“You have to  _ make _ time to study, however you can get it,” Lysithea said fiercely, never once looking up.  _ “I  _ don’t have time to waste.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Ignatz said, frowning. “How could the Empire have hidden such advanced technology?”

_ Advanced technology _ . The word echoed in Byleth’s mind. That was the phrase Fidget used to describe the threat that was Those Who Slither in the Dark, but he hadn’t been able to clarify exactly what that meant.  _ Heavens _ . She’d never imagined them to have possession of weapons as destructive as those javelins of light.

What  _ other _ feats of technology could they be hiding? It was a harrowing thought.

“It might not be the Empire,” Byleth said quietly.

She glanced at Claude. His brows were furrowed, eyes focused on a spot on the floor on the opposite side of the tent. Not looking at her.

Lysithea’s fingers stilled, hovering over the pages of the book that was splayed open in front of her. Ignatz’s frown deepened. Lorenz cleared his throat. “Not the Empire? Pardon, but what exactly do you mean?”

Byleth swept around the tent, checking for shadows outside. “Fidget has alerted us to the possibility that the Empire is allied with a secret organization.” She wished he was here to explain the cult himself, but Fidget wasn’t a soldier and battle missions didn’t have room for tourists. “We don’t know much else, except that their technology is better than ours.”

“Even so,” Claude said, stepping in, “that we even  _ know _ about the organization’s existence is an edge we have on the enemy. Fidget calls these folk  _ Those Who Slither in the Dark _ \- a mouthful, I know, but supposedly they’re a cult full of powerful mages.”

“We’ll have to move quickly now,” Byleth said, smoothing out a map of Fodlan onto the table. “Our enemy must be feeling pressured for them to reveal such weapons.” Resorting to using something as powerful as the javelins - that didn’t qualify for a Plan B, or even a Plan C. No, the situation read like a last ditch attempt at a threat:  _ Don’t come any closer, or you’ll get what’s coming to you _ .

“Unless the javelins of light today are just the tip of their arsenal,” Leonie said darkly.

Byleth smiled. “Fidget did say you were struggling with bluffs,” she said. “Think, Leonie - our enemy has had these weapons in their arsenal, but why did they wait until now - five years into the war - to use them? Why did they wait until  _ this _ battle, when we were encroaching upon Empire territory and  _ winning _ ?”

Claude nodded, running a hand along the edge of his beard. He  _ still _ wasn’t looking at her. “Garreg Mach would’ve been a much more strategic target, so that they’ve instead attacked this fortress means that there’s some limitations. We just have to figure out what those limitations are and use it against them.”

“To use your poker analogy, friend,” Yuri added, acknowledging Byleth, “we’ve forced the enemy to show a part of their hand that they didn’t want to show.” And  _ finally _ Claude’s gaze was pulled away from that spot on the ground, but not towards her. Instead, he shot a quick look at Yuri, and the crease in his brow did not relent. “It doesn’t feel like it - but this puts us in a more advantageous position than we were in yesterday.”

“Those Who Slither in the Dark,” Lysithea said slowly under her breath, rolling the syllables around in her mouth. She was silent for a turn, her face contorted as if she’d just eaten something bitter. “These mages - they’re not - do they have skin as pale as death? They don’t run experiments on  _ people _ , do they?”

Hilda blanched. “Human  _ experiments? _ ” she said. “ _ Gross _ . That’s  _ awful _ . Why would you say something like that?”

Meanwhile, it was as if all thought had been shocked from Byleth’s mind. Did Lysithea...?

Lysithea shook her head. “I’m probably just - ”

“No,” Byleth said quickly before Lysithea could begin to doubt. “Lysithea, tell me what you know.”

* * *

She remembered when she’d first asked Ignatz to work his dyes into her hair, and how angry Lysithea had been.  _ What are you doing? _ she’d demanded.  _ I prefer to keep my hair as a reminder _ , she’d later said cryptically.

And now Byleth  _ understood _ , and she was shattered because of it. Lysithea, who was always so determined to be seen as more than a child, always so impatient for things to be  _ done _ already, always saying how there wasn’t enough  _ time _ for anything.

“We’ll find them,” Byleth had promised fiercely after Lysithea had shared her story. “We’ll make them talk, figure out how to get that second crest off of you. And then we’ll kill them.”

Killing would be a mercy.

Lysithea had smiled then - and it was an  _ old _ smile, as if she found Byleth’s promise more amusing than comforting. That was when Byleth realized that Lysithea had long since resigned herself to her prophesied fate, but it just made Byleth want to prove her wrong all the more. “You sound resolved,” Lysithea had said, nodding. “I’ll allow your resolve to bolster my own.”

And Byleth felt the urgency that compelled Lysithea every day. They had no time to waste.

“We need to send Fidget and Shamir in now,” Byleth said. They were holding a strategy meeting, circled around a table with a map of Fodlan stretched out upon it. “The enemy will expect that we’ll soon be aware of Those Who Slithers’ existence. Now is the time for us to move, using the additional knowledge that they don’t realize we have - namely, that we know their location as well. Meanwhile, we’ll draw their attention as we march on Edelgard.”

Claude frowned, staring intently at the map. “That means we’ll be heading into enemy territory on two fronts,” he pointed out, laying a marker on Enbarr and the known entrance to the domain of Those Who Slither. “No matter how much we learn about the underground hideout from Fidget and Shamir, the enemy will know their home turf better. When it comes time to fight them, we’ll need Fidget and Shamir to draw them out somehow to neutral grounds.”

Yuri sat up suddenly. “Use Abyss,” he said.

Claude’s brows furrowed for a moment before understanding dawned upon him. Byleth, however, was not nearly as attuned to the ways of the schemer. “How so?”

“Abyss is  _ my _ home territory. We’ll have the advantage there, and we can lay pre-emptive traps,” Yuri said. “We just have to lure them in.”

That was the hard part - the luring. “With what?” Byleth said.

“The Chalice, I’m assuming?” Claude said, arching an eyebrow at Yuri. Byleth couldn’t help but feel that he was still avoiding her gaze. “A legendary artifact with the ability to resurrect the dead. Nevermind that we don’t know how to  _ use _ it - but the fact is that we  _ have _ it, and who wouldn’t want it? And even if the enemy  _ doesn’t _ want it for some reason...”

“They won’t want  _ us _ to have it, if they think we plan on using it against them,” Shamir finished sharply. “Clever.”

Seteth wasn’t pleased. “We must make every effort to ensure that the Chalice does  _ not _ fall into enemy hands,” he cautioned. “And I do not enjoy the idea of inviting the enemy into Garreg Mach. However…” He closed his eyes, lips pursed for a moment. “I do see your point. I can see to it that information about the Chalice is appropriately leaked when we are ready.”

“That leaves  _ our _ march on Enbarr,” Claude said, lining up the yellow army markers currently positioned on Garreg Mach. “It must be subtle. We should make every effort to conceal our numbers - not only to make it more difficult for the enemy to anticipate our forces, but also to ensure that we don’t leave Garreg Mach open and defenceless.” He winked at Seteth. “Or, at least not  _ obviously _ open and defenceless.” He split the army markers into batches, pushing them along different routes into Empire territory. “Five years ago, Edelgard disguised her soldiers as merchants to attack the monastery. We can do the same.”

“And let’s not forget about the fine folk living in Abyss,” Yuri said, producing a stack full of silver markers. “If we’re going to be bringing the fight to us, we’ll have to evacuate all those who can’t fight.” He added several silver markers to each of Claude’s groups. “The children, the elderly, the crippled - bring them with the Knights into the Empire.”

Claude nodded slowly. “The soldiers will protect the civilians, and the civilians will disguise the soldiers as refugees and common folk,” he said. He looked up at Yuri, inspecting him for a moment through narrowed eyes. “That’s… well thought out.” He hesitated. “Nicely done.”

Yuri chuckled. “ _ Do _ try to sound a little less enthused with your compliments,  _ friend _ ,” he said. “You’ll make me blush with all your flirting and high praise.”

Claude’s face smoothed out almost instantly. He’d put his mask on, Byleth realized. “I’m surprised it takes so little to rattle you,” he said. “It’s a shame that for all  _ your _ flirting, you get so little in return.” He shook his head. “Anyway. We should get to work on Fidget’s and Shamir’s cover stories. I expect we’ll need your help, Yuri.”

Yuri’s eyebrows were raised. “ _ I _ should expect this to be one of your strengths,” Yuri said, “but. That said. I’d be delighted to assist.”

And Byleth couldn’t help but feel like there had been something  _ big _ there - some hidden dialogue between two schemers - but she just didn’t know  _ what _ .

* * *

“You and Yuri seem to be getting along better,” Byleth commented afterwards, catching Claude before he was able to disappear into his room.

Claude looked at her - finally - and there was something guarded in his expression that made her voice involuntarily warble at the end.

“He’s a good leader,” Claude said evenly. “Not to mention  _ pretty _ .”

Dear  _ heavens _ . Was he ever going to let that go?

Byleth braced herself for more of his teasing, but he dropped the subject. “I’m sorry, by the way, about how I - well, about how I acted the day of the battle,” he said suddenly. “I realize that I was reading things that weren’t there - things that I maybe  _ wanted _ to see, but…” He trailed off, rubbing his forearm. “I made a mistake. I hope it hasn’t -  _ won’t _ change anything between us.”

She didn’t fully understand. But - Claude was afraid of  _ something _ , she knew, and he  _ had _ been acting rather odd ever since she’d given him the garland. But she’d hoped that maybe it meant…

She shook herself. “Not all change is bad,” she pointed out, before continuing, “And besides. I told you I’ll be here, with you. No matter what.”  _ If you’ll have me _ .

A pained look flickered over his features for a moment before he drowned it with a smile. “My friend,” he said - and it sounded  _ different _ this time, but Byleth couldn’t put her finger on why. “I’m going to dig around the Abyss library, see if there’s anything we can find there that matches Lysithea’s account.” He paused. “I assume you’re off to find Hilda? Don’t envy you.”

“Yes,” Byleth said, and then she cautioned, “Don’t stay up too late.” Even though she knew it was useless. He’d likely be staying up til the sun rose, and she’d find him asleep atop a mound of books. Again.

He winked, and her stomach fluttered. “Suppose you’ll just have to check up on me to make sure,” he said - but then he was pulling back again, retreating towards the direction of Abyss. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Teach.”

“Good night, Claude,” she said in response, but he was already far away by this point - and she had spoken so softly, she was sure that he wouldn’t have heard her.


	20. T is for Trepidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda paused in confusion. “You gave him the garland. It’s supposed to be for friends.”
> 
> That didn’t clear anything up. “Claude is - ”
> 
> “And _potential suitors_,” she finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to Stealth Flower for helping me work through some plot points and for streamlining this chapter! Please enjoy.

The time for doubt was over.

Too much was already set into motion to back out of their ridiculously convoluted scheme - the type of scheme that could only be conceived by the combined forces of Claude and Yuri - and the fate of the war rested in its execution.

So many variables that could go awry. Byleth kept running the numbers over and over in her head, but there was nothing left to do but her part in the war: to defeat Edelgard. She simply had to trust that the others would see their own missions through.

She simply had to trust that it would be _ enough _.

The first several groups of knights had already been deployed, their armor and weapons tucked away in merchant wagons. About a third of the Abyssian civilian folk had been evacuated. The next group was set to leave tomorrow - after which, Yuri had said, they could begin building the traps to ensnare the enemy.

“Leave it to me and my crew,” Yuri had said with a wink, gesturing to Balthus, Constance, and Hapi. “Can’t be giving away _ all _ of Abyss’ secrets now, can we?”

But, while Byleth couldn’t keep the hands from playing out, she _ could _ still say good-bye.

Hilda was still only half-packed, despite being due to depart early tomorrow morning. She had her commoner’s outfit already selected and laid out, but her weapons and other belongings were scattered across the room as if a tornado had blown through. And Hilda, amidst it all, was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling with wide pink eyes.

“This is too much for me, Professor,” she said. “Can’t I stay and fight with you instead?”

Byleth smiled. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were asking me to put you on the sidelines,” she said. “See how far you’ve come, and how much further you’ll go after this.”

Byleth was to be among the last group to leave Garreg Mach. It had made sense at the time - after all, she and Claude had to oversee so many moving pieces that they _ should _ be the ones to linger at the base the longest. And yet, that also meant Byleth had to see everyone else out _ first _ , while she just sat at the monastery _ waiting _ and doing _ nothing _ but hope that everything would turn out for the best - which bred its own flavor of anxiety.

“There you go again, overestimating me,” Hilda said, a hint of a whine in her voice. She sat up, looking troubled. “I’ve never done anything by myself before, and nothing like _ this _ . I’m just going to - I’m just going to _ fail _ and disappoint you.”

“I believe in you,” Byleth said. “You know I wouldn’t ask anything of you otherwise.”

Hilda’s brows furrowed deeper. “But I - the stakes are so high, and I - ”

“You’ll do your best, and that will be more than enough,” Byleth said firmly. “You know how to reach me if things go awry, and I’ll be there.”

Hilda hesitated. “You promise?”

Byleth nodded. “I do.”

“You _ know _ , Professor,” Hilda said, a little put out, “you _ also _ promised not to set any expectations for me, and yet here we are.” She sighed. “I get it though - but I’m drawing a line in the sand. After this, _ no more _ . No more expectations. You _ know _ how I feel about disappointing you.”

She did. And perhaps it was mean of Byleth - but that was exactly why she kept pushing Hilda beyond her comfort level. She’d never tell Hilda this, of course. Let the girl enjoy her pretence of being lazy, even though Hilda honestly hadn’t been lazy in quite a long time. In fact, Byleth couldn’t remember the last time that Hilda skipped a training session. Somewhere along the way, the axe-wielder had shaped up to be quite the diligent warrior.

“I think you’ll surprise yourself by having fun playing commoner for a little while,” Byleth said instead. If she had invested the same energy into Hilda as she had with Claude during their school years, Byleth was sure that Hilda would have done quite well in the underground gambling rings. Perhaps not as well as Claude, but well by any other standard.

Hilda wasn’t persuaded. “We’ll see about that.” She fidgeted with her hands for a while, before suddenly standing up with a start. “Oh, I almost forgot - I finished your garland, Professor! And just in time before tomorrow.” She reached into a box underneath her bed and withdrew a garland interwoven with small green and blue flowers between the large rose blooms reminiscent of the two hair colors that Byleth switched between. It was far nicer than the one that she’d forced Byleth to make.

And she smiled so genuinely as she offered it up, and - _ fuck _ , well now Byleth felt _ truly _ guilty about sending Hilda off ahead on her own when she was clearly loathe to leave Byleth’s side. Maybe she _ was _ pushing Hilda too much.

But despite the guilt now surging through her gut, Byleth accepted the garland, and it was _ beautiful _ . She’d never received such a feminine gift before, and it felt… _ nice. _ With Jeralt as a father, her presents had always been strictly practical, excepting an ornamental blade that they ended up having to pawn in the end when the jobs coming in weren’t quite as lucrative.

“Thank you,” Byleth said honestly. “I’ll hang it up in my room tonight.”

Hilda giggled a little _ too _ loudly, clearly desperate to focus on trivial things to distract her from her journey tomorrow. “Ooh, I can’t wait to see it,” she said, even though she knew the flowers would be dried and withered by the time she would have the chance to. She hopped back onto her bed, legs swinging idly beneath her for a few beats. “Who did you give yours to, by the way?”

When Hilda had first forced Byleth into following the Garland Moon tradition, Byleth had figured that she’d leave her work with Hilda. Of course, then she saw what a poor job she’d done and decided it served more as an insult than a gift. Seeing Hilda’s handiwork now, Byleth was doubly glad that she didn’t give her crime of a garland to her. “I gave it to Claude.”

Hilda froze, her legs stopping mid-swing. “_ Claude? _ ” she repeated, and then she jumped back off the bed, squealing. “Oh, Professor! So you _ do _ love him!”

Byleth blanched. Well - she did - but where had _ that _ come from? She had thought that she’d been successful in keeping that emotion to herself - because - because - _ what if Claude found out? _

She forced herself to remain calm. “What do you mean?”

Hilda, too, paused in confusion. “You gave him the garland. It’s supposed to be for _ friends _.”

That didn’t clear anything up. “Claude is - ”

“And _ potential suitors _,” she finished.

Wait.

_ Potential suitors? _

That was - that couldn’t be right, could it? Her father never mentioned anything of the like when he told her those stories as a child, did he - ?

Oh, _ fuck _.

He _ had _, and she’d...

Byleth burned. Had she been - _ that _ forward? She hadn’t _ meant _ to be. It was wildly inappropriate, and _ how could she have done something like that? _

“Professor, didn’t you grow up in Fodlan?” Hilda asked slowly. “How do you not _ know _ these things?”

“I never had much in the way of friends,” Byleth said, defending herself. And while her father had told her some legends growing up, they hardly practiced any of these traditions, and she’d just… forgotten. “But Claude, he knows about these customs?” Maybe he didn’t. After all, he did grow up in Almyra, where they had their own _ headscarf _ rituals that Claude refused to explain, so maybe -

“He definitely does now if he didn’t when he first came to Fodlan,” Hilda said. “He gets a few every season from hopeful ladies looking to snag the Duke of House von Riegan.”

Byleth’s stomach fell, and her chest began to seize most uncomfortably, as if she’d been sprinting up a steep hill. Because of _ course _ he’d know. Claude was hardly a diamond in the rough. He was handsome, intelligent, charismatic, and well-titled to boot. Had any of those previous ladies ever caught his eye? They probably had much tidier garlands to present to him. Hers would be a mess compared to theirs, with uneven clusters of roses and the garland itself bunched up in odd places, refusing to lay flat. What did he think of Byleth now that she was counted among them? _ Why _ did she have to have given _ him _ the damn thing?!

And - was that why he’d been so brash after the takeover of Fort Merceus? Because she’d given him the garland, and then almost immediately after, accepted a headscarf from one of the soldiers? From a retrospective light, it _ did _seem like she could’ve been toying around with them both, rather than just blindly wandering her way to the wrong end of an innuendo as she did.

“Well, it’s not _ such _ a big deal,” Hilda said, reading Byleth’s dread as horror and consequently backpedalling a bit. “It’s just a fun way to flirt. I make garlands for a _ few _ men every year. And _ all _ of my girlfriends, of course.”

Byleth barely heard Hilda, too caught up in her own thoughts. The world was moving too quickly and not at all, and Byleth was suspended in a tornado of a thousand thoughts.

Because - what did Claude say after the battle at Fort Merceus? It was something strange, something that she didn’t understand then. _ I was reading things that weren’t there - things that I maybe wanted to see _ . Was he referring to the garland? Did he… did he _ want _ her to proposition him? And if so… why?

And after she’d given him the garland, his whole demeanor had changed. She’d thought that he’d been softer because he pitied her for the sorry excuse of a garland that she’d made. _ I would like to do this right _, he had said. Did that mean…?

“Professor?” Hilda prompted.

Byleth frowned. “I think…” she said slowly, afraid to give the thought air to breathe - as if saying it aloud might render it false - “I think Claude fancies me.”

Hilda simply stared at her, eyes almost comically wide.

“Or… perhaps not,” Byleth said, more than a little stung by the reaction as her stomach twisted into knots again. Had she misinterpreted the scenarios? Was there nothing there? She should’ve known better than to hope that Claude would think of her that way, and how _ ridiculous _ it was of her to voice such a thought - 

“Oh, _ Professor _ ,” was all Hilda managed to say before promptly dissolving into giggles. “That’s _ not _ what I meant. What I _ mean _ is, how long has it been since you _ noticed? _ ” She giggled again into her hand, and the knotted dread that Byleth’s stomach was twisting itself into suddenly relaxed. _ She wasn’t making fun _, Byleth thought, relieved despite herself - until she caught onto Hilda’s word choice.

_ How _ long _ since I noticed? _

“Don’t tell me you’ve been stringing him along on _ purpose _ all this time,” Hilda continued. “Though he’d certainly deserve it.”

_ All this time _ . What did that mean? “You - _ knew? _” But… “You never said anything.”

“Like _ I’m _ going to get myself involved in whatever the two of you had going on. No _ thank _ you,” Hilda said primly, and then winked at Byleth. “It _ was _ fun to watch, though.”

Byleth’s thoughts were still whirling, an incoherent blur. “And _ he _ never said anything. Unless he told you - ?”

“Claude? Of course he hasn’t. He’s never upfront about _ anything _ ,” Hilda said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly. Our _ master tactician _ doesn’t know how to get something he desires without scheming for it.” She huffed. “ _ Boys _. Who knows how their brains work?”

And for the first time, Byleth allowed herself to hope. That what she saw wasn’t just wishful thinking, if Hilda was backing her up on this - that Claude might actually return her interest in him. And if so…

She should tell him, she thought immediately. That had always been her strategy: upfront and direct. _ Too _ direct, at times - to the point that others have called her heartless. Which she supposed was true, but that was besides the point.

But - and doubt now wriggled its way in the back of her mind - would it be appropriate for her to bring it up, in the middle of war? They couldn’t afford any distractions now. And though the numbers were in her favor, if she were wrong, it would totally destroy _ everything _.

She and Claude, they were the faces of the war. Well, _ he _ was the face of the Alliance, and _ her _ crest was the one on their banner. If she were wrong, and their relationship suffered for it, that could jeopardize the war effort and everything they had worked for. It could jeopardize _ lives _.

At the same time, knowing that he might feel for her as she did him and not doing _ anything _ about it felt like its own heartbreak. Like she was letting him go and giving up a chance to pursue a happiness she’d never had the opportunity to pursue before. Was that selfish of her? What was the worth of romance when priced against the lives of soldiers underneath her command?

“Professor?” Hilda prompted.

Startled, Byleth looked up and managed a quick smile at Hilda to cover up the fact that she’d been lost in her own internal ramblings. (Smiling? To cover something up? Was she - ?) “Excuse me,” Byleth said. “That was just a lot to realize.”

Hilda stuttered. “_ Professor! _ ” she exclaimed. “Are you telling me that you only _ just _ realized that Claude’s madly in love with you? Right here, in this room? Right _ now? _ ” She flopped back on her bed, arms splayed out wide. “Ooh, I wish I didn’t have to leave _ tomorrow _ ! Things are just about to get _ good! _”

Byleth refused to cling to her words. _ Claude’s madly in love with you _, Hilda had said, but Hilda was always one to exaggerate. Still, a warmth flooded Byleth’s body and delight prickled her skin, despite her best to quash it.

This was dangerous. This - this was even _ more _ distracting than when she had first realized that she was in love with Claude. She had to regain control of herself, _ now _.

“I have something for you, too,” Byleth said quickly, recalling one of the reasons she’d come to find Hilda in the first place. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a bundle of tea leaves. “Here,” Byleth offered, pressing it into Hilda’s open hands.

Because _ Hilda _ was more important than Byleth’s love life (or lack thereof), and Hilda would be embarking on her own tomorrow into enemy territory. And tonight was supposed to be about _ Hilda _ . Who was _ leaving _ for her own mission. A mission that Byleth couldn’t oversee.

The worst part of watching her students slowly depart one by one while she remained behind at Garreg Mach was the worry, the anxiety, the helplessness. Because this was war, and _ anything _ could happen once she saw them off. It wasn’t like previous missions, where Byleth could always turn back time to deflect an arrow that would’ve otherwise been a critical hit. Every good-bye could be their last.

The _ best _ part was that she could get rid of the remains of her tea leaf collection by wrapping them up as parting gifts.

“Whoah, rose petal blend - and mint leaves?” Hilda beamed. “You got my favorite teas!”

“For whenever you need a moment to relax,” Byleth said, and she felt a smile threatening to spill at the corner of her lips. “Don’t work yourself _ too _ hard.”

Hilda laughed, and it rang far more naturally this time. “Stay on the sidelines. You got it, Professor,” she said, gingerly placing the leaves in the pocket of her satchel.

“And,” Byleth said, pulling out a card from her other pocket, “also this.”

Hilda flipped it over, frowning. “An Ace of diamonds?”

“You’re the Ace up our sleeves,” Byleth explained. “I wanted to give you an Ace to put up yours as well.” It also meant that her deck now had only 51 cards, but with Fidget now gone on his sleuthing mission, it wasn’t like there was anyone left to play poker anymore.

“A good luck charm,” Hilda said, nodding, holding the card close to her chest. Her eyes were wide in that doe-like way again, but this time, they glistened with unshed tears. “Thanks, Professor.”

Byleth had no place to make this promise, but she said anyways, “I’ll see you again sooner than you think, Hilda.”

“Yeah,” Hilda said - and Byleth hated how small her voice sounded, how muted she was from her normal enthusiasm. Byleth’s stomach churned. _ And she’d been the reason for it _. “See you soon.”

The time for doubt was over.

Too much was already set into motion.

* * *

Restless. Lonely. _ Anxious _.

Was there a single word to describe exactly how Byleth felt in anticipation for her own departure?

The monastery had been nearly emptied out, reminding Byleth more of the ruins she’d woken to after her five year slumber rather than the military camp it had been as of late. The Abyssian residents had been fully evacuated, and even though she hadn’t known of their existence until recently, their absence now felt heavy.

She’d sharpened her weapons, counted the rations, and triple-checked her numbers. Byleth thought about running through them a fourth time, but she instead decided to tour the monastery in full one last time before marching on Edelgard.

_ Edelgard _ . During the school year, Byleth had always thought there was a duality to the then-princess. By all accounts, Edelgard was goal-oriented and almost _ clinical _ in her tactics studies. And yet, sometimes Byleth thought she would instead catch a glimpse of a girl who was a dreamer with her head in the clouds. But then Byleth would blink, and Edelgard would be there again, fully grounded and tackling the next item on her checklist.

It was probably the dreamer in Edelgard that persuaded her to declare war against the Church, pursuing her own version of a better world. Byleth wished that Edelgard hadn’t kept that part of her so tightly guarded, because then maybe all of this could’ve been avoided. 

_ Ah - no. _ Byleth caught herself. She couldn’t afford to be nostalgic and wistful, especially not now. That was _ dangerous _.

Determined to leave behind the memories, Byleth cut her tour of the monastery short and redirected her footsteps towards Abyss. There would be no recollections of olden days there, and besides - Byleth knew that Claude would be haunting its library, as he had been doing consistently of late.

Claude. He was certainly a distraction, and a different type of dangerous.

And, as expected, he was hidden away on one of the lower floors of the shadow library at a desk overflowing with books, several volumes even spilling onto the ground. At her arrival, Claude looked up, his tired eyes wrinkling at the corners and Byleth felt that familiar flutter in her belly that she’d come to associate with his genuine smiles.

“I’m glad you came, my friend,” he said as she approached, with that same emphasis on _ my friend _ that sounded different as of late. “Take a look at what I just found.”

He pushed a delicate scroll towards her and Byleth read it carefully:

_ In the land of Thinis, where gods are said to live, the False God has awakened. Its looming, heteromorphic vessel was resurrected to sink the world into the depths of the ocean. It will bring extinction to all children of men, and salvation to all beasts of the land, sky, and sea. For the children of men who spilled too much of the blood of life, it promises only cruel retribution. _

_ The False God must be defeated before the world sinks into a watery grave. To this end, the children of men have erected pillars of light upon the land. Thinis, Malum, Septen, and Llium were utterly destroyed. Those lands have vanished from this world. Yet even still, the False God stands. And soon, a flood aptly named Despair will drown this world. _

_ The children of men fled to the depths of the earth, beyond the sight of the False God, beyond the entrance of the sacred sun, and beyond the reach of the water of Despair. They swore a fervent oath of revenge against the surface world, ruled by beasts, and against their tormentor, the False God _.

Byleth frowned. “Pillars of light that brought about destruction…” These children of men who went underground - could they be the ancestors of Those Who Slither?

Claude winked. “I thought that would catch your eye. And this reference to a world ruled by beasts - you know, it makes me think of the Immaculate One. If at some point in the past, there were other similar monsters. _ Or _ maybe they’re just referring to demonic beasts.” He hesitated. “Though, the ones _ we’ve _ faced were brought to life by Those Who Slither using crest stones. Ironic that these _ children of men _ would go underground to escape the beasts, just for their descendents to create them.”

“Rather presumptuous for them to call themselves children of men,” Byleth commented. “What does that make us?”

“What does that make _ us _ ? I’m not sure about _ you _ \- because I have a feeling that _ you _ would be a child of the False God,” Claude said, eyeing her critically. “ _ Me _ , however….” He leaned back against his hands, balancing his chair on the back two legs. “I like to think that this Riegan bloodline comes from those who _ weren’t _ religious nutjobs and decided that going to a place where the sun don’t shine - _ literally _ \- sounded like a sorry place to spend the rest of eternity.”

She couldn’t help but rib him a little. “Or maybe they were the ones that just got left behind. You _ do _ have a tendency to sleep in, and it must come from _ somewhere _. Maybe your Riegan ancestors overslept the call to be ushered into the underground safe haven.”

“Ha. _ Very _ funny, Teach,” Claude said. The front two legs of his chair came back down. “Seems like _ someone _ forgot who, between the two of us, spent the first five years of the war _ sleeping _.”

Byleth took the chair across from him. “From my experience, that’s what goddesses do best,” she said.

“What?” Claude prompted, eyebrows raised. “Sleeping?”

“_ Forgetting _,” she corrected. And then she hummed to herself, shaking her head. “If Sothis could hear me now…”

Claude leaned in, curious. “Yeah? What would she say?”

Byleth thought about it. It had felt lonely at first, but she’d gotten used to the silence of her own mind. But Byleth still missed the sound of her voice at times. “She’d call me a child,” Byleth said. “And challenge me to live through what she had _ without _ forgetting.” _ I am the Beginning _ , Sothis would say. _ Can you presume to say that you would not forget with so much to remember? You, who only knows how to wield a sword! _

“What _ did _ she live through?” Claude wondered, pressing in closer now and his gaze fixed on her in a way that could make her forget to breathe. He was always like this whenever his curiosity was sparked, but it had been only recently that his undivided attention began to cause such dizzying effects on Byleth.

“I don’t know,” Byleth admitted. “She couldn’t remember.”

And then Claude relaxed back into his chair, laughing. “Sounds like quite the personality, this goddess,” he said. “She didn’t have any fixation about - ” He checked the phrasing on the scroll again. “ - _ sinking the world into the depths of the ocean? _”

“No,” Byleth said, leaning in to review the scroll a second time as well. “She did not.”

“Well, these children of men were clearly scared of _ something _ ,” Claude said. He pulled in another stack of books, rifling through the pages in search of some specific passage. “I’ve referenced some of this text against others, and I think that these people were formally called _ Agarthans _.”

“Agarthans,” Byleth repeated slowly. She’d never heard of that name before.

Claude grinned. “Less of a mouthful than _ Those Who Slither in the Dark _ , isn’t it? Which makes this _ already _ a worthwhile discovery - which I’m not just saying _ because _ that’s all I’ve found so far.” He sighed, looking up at the high walls of the Abyss library that was brimming with ratty books and loose parchment. “There’s got to be more answers somewhere in here.”

“We’ll find it,” Byleth said, assured. “There’s really nothing else you found worthwhile yet?”

“Well,” Claude allowed, digging out another piece of parchment from underneath a stack of books, “there’s this recipe featuring moose meat. And _ this _ note banning human autopsies. Ah, and _ this… _” He smoothed out another sheet onto the table. “A tale of two lovers - the esteemed Saint Seiros and the legendary Emperor Wilhelm.” His grin was boyish. “You think it’s true, Teach? That Edelgard might be descended from Saint Seiros herself and have declared war on half of her family’s legacy?”

“A delightful theory,” Byleth said dryly, “that Fodlan’s civil war is just a Hresvelg family feud.”

“Hey,” Claude said, throwing his arms up in the air dramatically. “What family’s perfect?”

_ Certainly not his, _ Byleth thought, recalling that Nader had let it slip that it had been _ Claude’s half-brother _ who had tried to poison him.

She clenched her jaw. She had to see this war through, so she could live to make that man regret his actions.

“Teach?” Claude said, leaning in to look at her. His brows were furrowed with concern. “You all right there?”

Byleth shook herself. “I - yeah,” she said offhandedly, looking around while searching for something else to say. “A lot of stories here, then?”

Because - if his curiosity made it hard for Byleth to focus, his _ worry _ made it near impossible. In his worry, there was a _ care _ for her well-being that she could almost _ pretend _ was the fervent love she wanted him to feel towards her - and she wanted to wrap that care around her like a blanket, and _ for fuck’s sake _ is this what she had been reduced to? She was _ better _ than this.

She _ needed _ to tell him, because keeping her secret - wondering, thinking that he might be romantically interested in her, even if he wasn’t in _ love _ with her like she wanted him to be - was _ eating her alive _.

“I…”

But like so many times before, the words dried up in her throat. _ Where _ was her voice? Where was her _ bravery _ ? She’d killed bandits, monsters… even former coworkers and students. _ Manuela. Ferdinand. Dimitri. _ And in a few days’ time, maybe Edelgard. Maybe Hubert.

_ Spilling the blood of our own students with our own hands… How can we carry on after that? _

Did that not speak to her bravery? Her willingness to confront what others couldn’t fathom? So _ why couldn’t she do this? _

There was something deeply amusing that the thing she couldn’t do was to tell the man before her that she loved him, and that she thought maybe he might love her back. How broken _ was _ she? A few nights ago - when the monastery had been particularly quiet - Byleth had held her father’s ring between her fingers and wondered if she’d committed too many atrocities to deserve love, and if _ that _ was why she was incapable of expressing her feelings.

And then she’d laughed, because the worst of her atrocities - the murder of the people she cared for, the murder of Manuela and Ferdinand and Dimitri - she’d done for _ Claude _and his dreams. It was all quite romantic, in a way.

In a tragic, fucked up kind of way, that was.

The girl with no heart who fell in love anyway and killed old companions that stood in her beloved’s path. It was the type of bedtime story a parent would tell a child to train them as a supervillain.

“Do you think there will be a story about us, one day?” Byleth managed finally.

Claude’s brows shot up in surprise. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sure the bards are _ already _ singing songs about you.”

“No, not - ” Byleth broke off, flustered, before trying again. “About _ us _. Like Saint Seiros and Emperor Wilhelm.”

“Oh.” He paused, and then his hand quickly flew up to rub the back of his neck where Byleth knew he had a tendency to flush. “Well - I suppose,” he said, shifting uncomfortably, eyes fixed firmly ahead. “Romance sells.”

And his words would have defeated Byleth, but she’d come so much further this time that she couldn’t relent _ now _ . She forced herself to study his body language instead, and all of his tells were _ screaming _.

Her pulse was hammering so loudly, she could hardly think.

_ Deep breaths _.

“But what if it were - _ real? _ ” she said brokenly, fumbling through all the words her mind turned up, none of which slotted quite right with what she _ wanted _ to say. “I mean - is there any chance? Of that? With… us?”

And he turned his gaze onto Byleth, and no - forget what she said earlier, _ this _ was the look that rendered her incapable of thought - because _ heavens _ , his eyes were ablaze and his fists were clenched on the table, the muscles in his forearms flexing, and when she ran her tongue along her lips because she’d suddenly realized that they were _ dry _ , his gaze _ dropped _ and _ lingered _ and she _ felt _ her lips part again, but she didn’t know why because she had no voice to say all the words that she didn’t have anyway and -

He swallowed, dragging his eyes back up to meet hers. “Please,” he said, and he sounded so _ strangled _ \- “don’t do this to me.”

And Byleth _ recoiled _ , a flare of hurt whipping her across her chest _ \- he doesn’t - I’m wrong - this is - _

“Byleth,” he said, his voice stronger this time - but not by much. “Tell me. I need to know. Do you want me?”

Her lips move soundlessly. _ You don’t - I misread everything, and Hilda _\- 

“Yes,” she managed finally, honestly. _ And more _.

And then the distance between them was _ gone _ , and his fingers were fisting in her hair, and it almost hurt when he tugged the strands too hard except she couldn’t notice at all because he was _ there _ , tracing _ his _ tongue along _ her _ lower lip that she’d wetted just moments ago - and then he was pulling her _ up _ into his lap, and - was he sitting _ on _ the desk? When had _ that _ happened, and where did the books go -

And she _ felt _ him beneath her, long and hard and straining against his silks; and it made her _ giddy _ in a way sex never had made her feel before, in knowing that _ she did this to him _ \- and she swung a leg around as to properly straddle him, grinding down against him to stoke the fire that was building in her _ own _ core. And when he groaned, she _ felt _ it reverberate _ through _ her, and _ she felt alive _ -

His hands roamed - desperately, Byleth thought errantly - across her body until she directed them to the clasps of her armored shirt, and his breath hitched - or _ her _ breath hitched, she could hardly tell - and then her chest was bared to the chill of the room, until one of her breasts was covered by his hand - _ massaging, tracing small circles _ \- and the other was captured in his mouth - _ sucking, rolling with his tongue _ \- and with one stroke, he sent a tingle that ran up through her spine and she _ gasped _, moisture pooling between her legs -

She pushed him back against the table with her fingers splayed against the planes of his body, intending to work the clothes off _ him _, and he winced as he came down. “Wait,” he said, his voice deeper than usual as he dug behind his back, pulling out a holy text that somehow hadn’t been pushed to the floor at some point with all the others. He looked at it. “What we’re doing is probably blasphemous.”

“I don’t care,” Byleth said impatiently, snatching the book out of his hands and tossing it aside. “_ I’m _ the one that’s part goddess, and I decide how I want to be worshipped.”

Then his eyes darkened, 

and Byleth had nothing left to say.

* * *

It would occur to Byleth much later that Claude likely believed she’d taken him on as a lover, and that was all he had consented to. Like Saint Seiros and Emperor Wilhelm. _ Do you want me _ , he had asked. _ Do you love me _, he had not asked.

She’d realize it later, when she would be retrieving her scattered clothes alone before slipping back into her room, where she would pick up the stuffed bear sitting underneath a wilting garland. That she’d done it again despite herself - that she’d filled the emptiness of the eve of battle with nothing more than physical distraction, because _ she’d _ said words that were only adjacent to what she truly wanted to say, and Claude had responded in kind.

But for now, basking in the glow of her orgasm and curled up against his side in the basement floor of an empty Abyss library, waiting for dawn to deploy towards Enbarr, she could pretend that he loved her as much as she loved him.


	21. T is for Turmoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never before had the vacancy in her chest felt more painfully obvious.
> 
> But - maybe that was a good thing. Fodlan needed her for her steel, and so steel she would become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hear ye, hear ye! My name is Recipe and I present "Free Thoughts on the Preceedings of the Following Chapter" -
> 
> 1\. Heed the Stealth Flower who cleaned up this chapter, she doth have your interests at heart;  
2\. Chaos and bloodshed are shortly forthcoming. Don't let them lead you astray;  
3\. I'm sorry this chapter is late, but angst is a dangerous game. And honestly I'm kind of lazy. (For shame. For shame.)

In the morning, she felt as hollow as Garreg Mach.

The monastery had become a skeleton with no flesh and no soul, the last of its inhabitants filing out of their rooms to leave it behind and go where it could not follow. All it could do was echo back a memory of the life it once held within its wall, and yet it still stood tall and proud on its hilltop among the trees, because that was the only thing left for it.

Similarly, Byleth commanded her hands and feet according to habit: she saddled her bags, checked that she had sufficient fresh socks in her personal satchel, and strapped her sword around her waist. The rhythm of mobilizing for battle was a beat she knew how to march to, even while her spirit was numbed to stillness.

Never before had the vacancy in her chest felt more painfully obvious.

But - maybe that was a good thing. Fodlan needed her for her steel, and so steel she would become.

The first rays of the sun stretched over the horizon, lightening the world from dark to grey.

_ I believe a new dawn will brighten Fodlan soon, now that you’re here, my friend _ .

This sunrise was not yet that dawn.

“You ready, Teach?”

Byleth turned around to find Claude, watching her through guarded eyes.

Claude. Her…  _ lover _ .

Her stomach churned. A willing lover, but nothing more. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but she’d  _ used _ him to fulfill her fantasies and to distract her from the war to come. Little wonder he’d stolen away in the middle of the night when she’d fallen asleep.

It was wrong of her. He deserved better. And  _ how could she have done that? _

She fixed her gaze forward on the horse whose harness she was tightening, unable to meet Claude in the eyes. “Ready for what?” she retorted.

Ready for the war to end? Ready to face Edelgard and whatever other students might have survived Ailell?

_ Ready to ask Claude what last night meant to him? (Ready to hear his answer?) _

He looked out to the horizon that she’d been caught staring at. “Ready for our new dawn.”

_ Our _ new dawn.

So - he didn’t resent her for last night. That was… good.

But it didn’t fully relieve the tension in the base of Byleth’s belly, that she’d done him wrong - that she’d used him for the pretence that he might love her - used him for a pretend fantasy - and that was something he might not have been willing to give.

_ Do you want me _ , he had said.  _ Want _ .

His physical tells had spoken of desire, but Byleth had read nothing of love. (What did love’s tells even  _ look _ like?) Not that she could trust herself to properly read him at this point, anyway. There was a rule in gambling, the old merc had taught her: once her emotions became entangled, it was time to leave. He had laughed as he said it, as if there could be no finer joke than the idea of Byleth losing herself to her feelings. (If being a part of her father’s band taught her something besides fighting, it was that mercenary humor appealed only to the odd palate.)

If he could see her now, Byleth thought grimly to herself. She ought to heed his guidance - extract herself from her situation until she could reign in her emotions once more. And suddenly Byleth understood the folk she’d previously looked down upon:, the ones who lingered at the tables long after their pockets of borrowed money had been emptied - because, despite everything, she  _ didn’t  _ want to distance herself from Claude.

But  _ should _ she?

Was that the responsible thing to do? The  _ moral  _ thing to do?

She dared to glance at him, and he was  _ watching _ her.

_Our_ _new dawn_.

“Of course I’m ready for that,” she said, re-averting her gaze and patting the horse before her once. “It’s everything in between that I have questions for.”

“Don’t you know, Teach,” he said with an easy smile that didn’t touch his eyes, “that you’re supposed to be the one with the  _ answers _ to the questions?”

“Good thing I’m not a professor anymore,” Byleth returned, stepping into the wagon she’d just hitched to the horse and running through its inventory.

And she’d come to accept  _ that _ part about her, at least. That her identity as a professor had been shelved, as her students were now closer to being comrades-in-arms than they were proper students. In the past year, she’d learned just as much from them as she likely imparted on them.

And a professor could never be in love with a  _ student _ . That would be utterly unprofessional and  _ inappropriate  _ \- and it was ultimately that which sealed the deal.

Claude tutted, leaning against the side of the wagon. “You know you’ll always be our professor,” he said dismissively.

Byleth stilled, midway through counting provisions.

If he still saw her as his professor, and he as her student - then he must not see Byleth as someone he could fall in love with, and he must not see Byleth as someone who could fall in love with him in return.

Hilda said he’d loved her. But maybe Hilda was exaggerating upon the admiration Byleth knew Claude had for her - the admiration of  _ student _ looking up to their  _ professor _ . A  _ platonic _ admiration. He still called her  _ Teach _ \- and she’d thought that it was just a nickname, but perhaps he still viewed it as her title.

So what was last night for him, then? An evening of physical lust, where he’d forgotten who she was to him? Was she just a placeholder for a warm body - any warm body - to distract him from the happenings of today?

The hollow inside her gnawed at her chest.

She forced herself to refocus on the sheet of paper in her hand.

_ Bread _ , she read. She counted.  _ Three satchels _ .

“I see you’re rather taciturn today,” he commented. “Why, Teach - didn’t sleep well last night?”

Her writing quill skipped across the page.

She knew what he was playing at. Of  _ course _ she didn’t sleep well.

And she didn’t want to remember the lines of his body, the way she felt the muscles of his back flex and pull beneath her fingertips, the way his tongue danced and circled around her mound and the way it felt when he pressed his lips against hers and  _ moaned _ \- 

\- the way, Byleth reminded herself forcefully, he’d undoubtedly brought many other women (or men) undone in the past, because Byleth wasn’t stupid enough to think Claude wouldn’t use sex as a tool in his toolkit, or at the very least the type who could find sex when he wanted it. She couldn’t let herself forget that yesterday had been purely physical for Claude, who  _ still thought of her as his professor. _

Last night, she’d taken from him a fantasy, and he’d taken from her release. Byleth didn’t know if it was a fair trade, or if it wasn’t, who came out ahead - and she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t do it again.

Even though she  _ shouldn’t _ .

She shot him a glare and saw that he wore a smug grin beneath calculating eyes. Whether she respond yes or no, she knew that he could reconstruct her answer to attest to his skills in bed. So instead she ignored it and said, “I’m always taciturn.”

“Of course you are, Teach,” he said - and was it just her, or did that sound almost…  _ patronizing? _ Claude pushed himself off the wagon with a shake of his head, dragging out a long sigh. “Well, enough chatter, I suppose. We’ve got to help an emperor step down from her throne.”

He wandered off, and Byleth let herself pause in her duties to watch him go, feeling that hollow inside her pulse in its ebbs and flows.

* * *

There was an irony in the way her most recent days at Garreg Mach felt haunted, imprisoning her in a forgotten relic of the past, and how her arrival at  _ Enbarr,  _ of all places, felt like homecoming.

_ What is your home? _ Claude had once asked her, and her answer had only slightly changed since then.  _ Home is where the people are. But he’s not here anymore _ , she’d said. And while her father was still gone, she’d found her home in her Golden Deer, and she was rewarded for a month’s worth of worry with their beaming faces.

It was enough to distract her from her emptiness, for now.

“Professor!” Marianne said when she arrived. “I’m relieved you made it.”

“Not that we ever doubted you wouldn’t,” Lysithea supplied as Raphael helped unload the wagon.

“This is the test for our sword skills that we’ve been training for,” Felix said as he joined them from the inn that they’d been staying at. “The Professor would never miss it.”

Leonie rolled her eyes. “Always with the dueling with you, isn’t it, Felix?” she said good-naturedly. “Why don’t you help check the Professor into the inn, and  _ then _ we can all duel?”

Felix flushed. “Why do I have to - ”

“Come on, Felix,” Lysithea interrupted impatiently. “I’m sure the Professor is weary from travelling all day.”

Felix glared at Lysithea before stomping back into the inn alone, and - to Byleth’s surprise - Marianne giggled once the door swung closed.

Leonie leaned in close to Byleth, confiding in a low voice, “The innkeeper’s daughter’s taken a fancy to Felix.”

Lysithea nodded. “It’s been endlessly entertaining watching him burn red under the attention.”

Ignatz smiled, cheeks tinted pink with what Byleth assumed was second-hand embarrassment. “They’ve been putting Felix in positions that force him to interact with her. It’s a wonder he hasn’t caught on.”

“He has a keen eye for the battle arts,” Lorenz pontificated with an air of artificial gravity, “but his attention to detail in the art of  _ life _ is most lacking. Disappointing to see in a noble of his stature.”

“Felix just has a singular focus,” Ashe said, defending the swordsman, before dropping his look of defiance and adopting a thoughtful air. “But sometimes I wonder if he secretly  _ does _ like the attention he gets from the maiden.”

And just as Byleth thought that maybe she should step in to reprieve Felix from the teasing - an impulse that was residual from her teaching days, perhaps - Claude jumped in instead. “All right, all right,” he said, stepping into the center of the circle that had gathered around Byleth and spinning around to greet everyone. “I get it, you all missed Teach. Who’s helping  _ me _ check in, though? You know, I’ve been on the road for just as long, and I could use a good nap right now.”

“Check in yourself,” Lysithea said flippantly, barely sparing Claude a glance.

Claude clutched his heart theatrically. “You wound me, Lysithea,” he proclaimed. “And here I was, travelling as fast as I could to reach you so that I could warn you that this inn is full of  _ spooky ghosts _ that come out at night - ”

“This is why we missed the Professor more than you,” Leonie said helpfully as Lysithea’s expression started to morph into one of outrage.

Claude held his hands up as he noticed Lysithea’s fingers twitching. “I’m going, I’m going,” he said, slipping out of the circle and walking backwards towards the inn. “No need to  _ Miasma _ me.”

“Don’t give me a reason to  _ Miasma _ you,” Lysithea retorted as Claude disappeared after Felix, his muffled laughter still audible even after the door closed behind him.

“Seems like you have been keeping busy,” Byleth said, amused. 

It was a welcome reprieve from the silent journey, as Claude had ridden in a separate caravan. A logical move, Byleth rationalized - as it allowed him to oversee the troops that Byleth couldn’t, and their cover as merchants would potentially last longer if they  _ weren’t _ seen together. However, it also meant that the duration of their travels was predominantly spent in quiet. Normally, Byleth had no qualms with silence - preferred it, in fact - but this time, the silent let her stew in her own thoughts for too long.

“As busy as we can,” Ashe admitted quietly, and there was too much truth in that statement. Byleth understood the need for distraction.

Tomorrow’s planned attack cast a large shadow.

“Come, Professor,” Lorenz said, interrupting the silence that fell. “You must be weary. Let us partake in a cup of tea.”

_ Tea _ . Dread unfurled in her stomach. Was it too late to ask Claude to join in on that nap?

But no sooner did Byleth think that did she remember last night, and how they  _ had _ been joined together and how she’d so naively reveled in what she’d thought was their shared love as he thrust into her, filling her ache with his breath hot and heavy in her ear - 

“Of course,” Byleth said faintly, her dread threatening to turn into nausea. “I’d love a cup of tea.”

* * *

There were, of course, quite a few things worse than being forced to  _ enjoy _ a cup of tea. Her father’s passing, for one. Being stuck in a void because she’d fallen for an incredibly obvious trap in her grief, for another. Pretending like she wasn’t utterly gutted that the man she was in love with didn’t love her back the way she’d hoped, for a potential third.

Reckoning with her former students, sword in hand? Definitely on the list.

It was a hard battle. Harder than Ailell, in some ways. Demonic Beasts - which had once been such a terrifying mystery - were now commonplace, and they were charging in droves. Her battalion was tired, hacking at the heels of the beasts that threatened to trample them. She tried to offer words of encouragement, but all of her emotional energy - whatever little she had left of it - was instantly siphoned from her as she caught the eyes of a mage with tresses of long dark hair, summoning meteors from a clear blue sky.

Because - that woman, she  _ couldn’t _ be Dorothea. Because she was a part of the enemy ranks, and Byleth wanted nothing more than to save Manuela’s protégé, given that she hadn’t been able to spare Manuela.

“More fighting,” the mage said in an exhausted voice, magic pooling at her fingertips. Her lips twisted upward - perhaps an attempt at a smile, but it looked more like a grimace of pain. “If it’s our destiny to kill each other, then I cannot - will not - respect the goddess.”

_ Was _ it a grimace of pain, or was Byleth just reading a reflection of her own sentiment? Byleth readjusted her grip on her sword, because it suddenly felt impossibly heavy in her hands. She  _ knew _ , given everything, to expect familiar faces in enemy lines, and that the steel of her heart would be tested today - but it seemed that her steel had cracks.

_ Did you ever find the love you desired? _ Byleth wanted to ask.  _ Or did you resort to giving your love to this cause that you’re fighting for? _

But Byleth’s throat was dry, so winded she was by Dorothea’s visage; and in the silence, a new voice supplied words for her: “This doesn’t have to be our destiny.”

Ashe had pulled up behind her, green eyes bright and earnest. His bow was trained against the ground.

It was all Byleth could focus on for a moment, this particular abnormality in this surreal situation.  _ Pull your bow up _ , Byleth wanted to instruct.  _ Never let your weapon down in battle _ .

And yet, she understood - because hadn’t she done something similar with Ashe? Hadn’t she stayed her blade, even when the rules of combat warned against such foolish hesitation?

Dorothea laughed - and how different it sounded from her laughters of the past, when its soprano would sing and echo against the Garreg Mach courtyard. Instead, this one hit notes that were all flats and jagged sharps. “Oh, that face brings back memories,” she said, greeting Ashe. “If fighting isn’t our destiny, then will you lay down your arms for me? Or do you expect me to withdraw my magic for you?” She shook her head. “Only thorns left on this rose.”

Ashe’s eyes flitted over to catch Byleth’s only briefly. “Go on ahead, Professor.” His fingers flexed over the bowstring.

_ Don’t let sentiment doom you _ , Byleth wanted to warn - but this was Ashe, and he’d faced the same grueling Ailell battle that she had; and long before that, he’d dealt with the commissioned slaughter of the adoptive father that he’d admired and loved. She didn’t need to warn him - just…  _ trust _ him and his judgment.

She nodded and turned away.

Reckoning with her former students with her sword in hand was impossibly difficult, and she wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that she did it in good company.

Because as much as Byleth hated the fact that she was leaving Ashe to grapple with the morality of facing an old friend in combat, she was relieved and comforted in knowing that she wasn’t alone.

* * *

Byleth expected familiar faces in enemy lines; and she expected that the steel of her heart would be tested today.

At least Hubert tried to make it a little easier on Byleth - bless him.

“I should have disposed of you a long time ago,” he sneered as Byleth hacked and slashed her way towards him. Energy began to swirl up and down his arms. “I will rectify that failure here!”

“You’ve always hated me,” Byleth agreed, whipping her sword back until all its segments snapped back into place. Hubert had been hostile to her from the start, disinterested in her efforts to make peace. And Byleth had secretly liked Hubert anyway, because she’d seen a lot of herself in him - standoffish, misunderstood, and utterly devoted to their own craft. And - if the rumors were correct - “Is it true you hate tea as well?”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Is it - ” Byleth started to repeat herself before she clamped her mouth shut. It wasn’t important.

Why did she always do this - raise nonsensical questions at such inopportune moments? She’d done something similar with Ashe and his book - was she hoping to achieve similar results in recruiting  _ Hubert _ , who’d never liked her to begin with?

“It’s true, I’m fond of neither you nor tea,” Hubert allowed with a cold smirk. “And you - with all your glory you’ve made for yourself - you’re no more than a tempest in a teapot, and it’s time to prove your worth.”

He released the energy he’d been building up in a radius around him, and Byleth had to slam her sword into the ground to root herself. Even so, the blast rattled her bones, and she felt - winded,  _ drained _ , and her head pulsed in pain, and her lungs felt like they’d collapsed in on themselves -

“So you do dislike tea,” she managed to gasp, before leaning heavily onto the hilt of her sword and pushing herself up. She gritted her teeth and ignored the way her head was pounding and how the ground was beginning to tilt on her, instead leveraging her lack of balance as a force to yank her sword back out. It dislodged from the ground, one vertebrae at a time, and when the last of them finally sprung free, she lashed it back down at Hubert, whip-like.

The force of it knocked him to the ground, the end of her sword catching around his arm and spiraling down, around his fingers. And when she pulled back, it tore the skin of his hand - and some more - along with it.

Hubert hissed, his face whitening, as Byleth’s weapon collected back into its sword form. She stumbled forward and he made a move to cast another spell, but with his damaged hand, his forms were imprecise and the magic was slow to build.  _ Good _ , she thought,  _ rob him of his weapons _ \- 

But then, a particularly painful throb at the back of Byleth’s skull momentarily robbed her of her vision and she fell to her knees beside Hubert, knocking into his good arm and disrupting his energy. He groaned, trying to clamber backwards until he put too much weight on his bloodied hand and lost balance, slipping down again - and Byleth, despite her increasingly leaden arms, dragged her sword until its edge rested on Hubert’s exposed neck.

“I regret not having you in my class,” Byleth said honestly. He would’ve been a good pupil. They might have been able to relate to each other, if given the chance.

And it would have been nice to have a student who wasn’t obsessed with tea like the rest were.

Hubert focused on her, and then his eyes unfocused again. But his hands were still moving -  _ he thinks he can pretend to be more injured than he is to get the advantage _ , Byleth realized - and she spun around until his good hand was pinned beneath her knee.

His smirk was back, but it was a touch less cold this time. “Hardly a tempest in a teapot, then,” he admitted, his face twisting in pain for a brief moment before finally allowing - “I regret that you were not the Black Eagles professor.”

_ The Black Eagles professor _ . But Byleth couldn’t regret that. She couldn’t regret her Golden Deer, and she wasn’t allowed to regret such a crucial choice made so far back in time -

Hubert closed his eyes and tilted his head back, admitting defeat. “We must place our faith in Her Majesty.” His voice was weaker now. “Her victory…”

She couldn’t regret choosing the Golden Deer, but she could offer him one last gift. She could wait a moment more; let him recite his dying conviction one last time.

“...is everything.”

And Byleth dragged her blade across his throat.

* * *

The remaining dregs of the Empire forces were retreating into the castle. They’d have to pursue them, Byleth knew, to secure victory over Enbarr - but first, she could catch her breath, even if she wasn’t allowed to catch up with her emotions.

Marianne was the first to find her. “Professor!” she exclaimed, running over and pressing pleasantly cool hands at her back - and that coolness trickled through her body, rejuvenating her breath.

“Much needed,” Byleth said in thanks, pushing herself up - but when she looked at Marianne, she found that the holy knight was fixated on Hubert’s corpse. Byleth sighed, unsure of what to say. They’d already seen so much death together - and yet, Byleth still didn’t know the right words to follow a murder. “I felt like we were starting to understand each other towards the end there.”

Marianne closed her eyes, her jaw set in determination. “This war must end.” She let out a shaky breath. “Professor… Do you remember the time you asked what it was I prayed for?”

Byleth remembered. Marianne, at the cathedral, her head bowed and strands of her hair falling out of her braid, silent lips moving too quickly to read. “Thanks and protection,” she recalled.

“Yes, but that wasn’t the case.” She opened her eyes again, dragging them away from Hubert to meet Byleth’s. “Back then, I thought my life served no purpose and I was nothing more than a burden. In truth… I was begging the goddess to take me to her,” she confessed. “That was my daily prayer. But now I fear the idea of dying and being left alone.” 

Whatever shell was left of Byleth’s soul shattered. She had no idea - and her gut wrenched to know that Marianne had been suffering such crippling pain and that Byleth hadn’t done more to help. What  _ else _ hadn’t she noticed? What else was she  _ still _ neglecting to notice?

“I will never leave you to die,” she promised vehemently - and maybe she had no right to make such a promise, when she’d left so many to die - people named and unnamed, but still she vowed. “And in a way - your prayer was answered, because the goddess was never that far off.” Byleth smiled. “Sothis  _ was _ always partial to you.”

“Oh!” Marianne’s eyes widened. “I never thought of it like that before.” She paused, her brow furrowed - and finally she spoke again, hesitantly, as if she was afraid of her voice. “The goddess… she was… partial to me?”

Byleth nodded, straightening Hubert’s final resting position. Marianne immediately knelt to help, whispering white magic over his wounds to disguise their ugliness. “She was always badgering me to schedule an extra tea time with you, just for the chance to see your eyes brighten.” And then she paused, because that wasn’t the complete truth. “And I did, because… I wanted to see it, too.”

It hadn’t started out that way, not when she was the Ashen Demon: daughter of a mercenary, card sharp, and everything but  _ nurturing _ . She’d held those tea times to force camaraderie, all the while wondering how in the world she’d been tasked to make soldiers out of such a soft ragtag crew. And Byleth couldn’t articulate exactly when things had changed, but it was somewhere between building her battalion formations around Marianne because she didn’t trust the mage to be able to defend herself and building her battalion formations around Marianne because she didn’t want to see the mage get  _ hurt _ , no matter how impressive her skills with the lance were.

And that fueled a bit of Byleth’s agony, understanding now the depths of Marianne’s trauma. However proud and fond she was of Marianne now, Byleth had once been among those who discounted her.

Byleth stood, catching Marianne by the elbow and bringing her up with her. Marianne’s hair had begun falling out of its braid again, resembling more the careless hairstyle she’d pinned back at the academy. But everything else about Marianne was different, from the way she confidently met Byleth’s gaze to the streak of blood - someone  _ else’s _ blood - splattered across her cheek and staining her clothes.

Even so, Byleth felt that same urge to protect her. To clean her up and spirit her away from the battlefield, hide her from the enemy lines. She raised a hand to brush the blood off Marianne’s face, but she only served to smear it. “Sorry,” Byleth said, patting herself down and looking for a clean scrap of cloth that she might be able to use; but looking down, her attire was just as ruined and stained as Marianne’s.

Marianne stopped her. “It’s okay, Professor,” she said. “I don’t mind a mess. Did you know, Hilda was the one who often had to clean up after me in our school days?”

_ That _ was more effective at giving Byleth pause than anything else Marianne could have done. Hilda, cleaning up after someone  _ else? _

“I might look a mess now, but I don’t  _ feel _ like a mess,” Marianne continued honestly. “Despite this war… despite its horrors… things are starting to fit into place.  _ I’m _ starting to find my own place where I don’t have to be a burden. I don’t feel so lost anymore.”

Byleth took Marianne’s hands and squeezed them. “You’re not a burden,” she said. “If anything… seeing how you’ve grown these past many years has been a source of inspiration for  _ me _ .”

“Me, a source of inspiration?” Marianne repeated, blushing. “How - how silly. I don’t believe…”

“Believe it,” Byleth interrupted with finality. “Because it’s true.” She’d realized as much when she had watched Marianne deliver her speech bidding good-bye to Ferdinand after the tragedy of Ailell. Perhaps she should have shared it sooner. On that note, she should have told Marianne how important she was to Byleth  _ much _ sooner - she should’ve told Marianne years ago, when she had still been Byleth’s student and fighting her own internal wars. Byleth had always considered herself a woman of much action and few words, but perhaps her failure to express verbal sentiment was a form of inaction of its own. “Are you ready?”

Marianne’s eyes widened. “Ready for what?”

_ Ready for the war to end. Ready to face Edelgard _ .

She’d retorted the same lines yesterday when Claude had prompted her with the same question.

Claude - to whom she should be similarly honest, she realized. To whom she should  _ admit _ the full extent of her commitment to him, even if he didn’t reciprocate. Even if he didn’t  _ want _ her commitment. Because anything else would be inaction, and  _ she was a woman of action, for the goddess’ sake. _

“For our new dawn,” Byleth said, quoting Claude, looking out to the imperial castle where Edelgard was waiting.

* * *

Byleth found the others assembling into their formations at the castle doorstep, Claude at the forefront, giving one of his rallying speeches that always seemed to work better than her awkward, stilted ones. She watched him - never once taking his eyes off of him, even as she flipped the cap of a healing potion and downed it to restore the last of the health that Marianne’s Physic hadn’t.

His hair was more wild than she’d seen it last - matted with sweat and blood - and his cape was torn in several places. He’d taken a wound, she noticed, in his right thigh - where dark red had seeped into the once-bright yellows of his uniform that were now muted with dust. He wore no jewelry save for the three golden rings in his left ear, and his boots had forgotten their prior shine. How different he looked from those months ago at Derdriu, when he’d draped himself in finery and gold to impress the Alliance roundtable - when he was all clean and sharp angles.

But this flavor of Claude was alive with something else, and if his green eyes danced during a particularly stubborn debate, then now they were  _ burning _ . And watching him, Byleth thought for a moment that maybe she  _ had _ a heart, because something in her chest was swelling and it was dizzying and  _ intoxicating _ and she, too, was jolted alive alongside him, and a trail of fire burned all the way down to her core - and she wanted to give into it, to have it  _ swallow _ her whole. Let this flame obliterate the memory of seeing the sorrow in Dorothea’s eyes. Make her forget the way Dorothea’s laughter had forgotten its song, jarring in its minor key; forget the innocence Ashe had been forced to lose, learning how to draw his weapon on both friend and kin; forget how Hubert’s blood had spilled out when Byleth had slit his throat, staining the hems of her sleeves. Forget how she’d wronged even  _ Marianne _ in her presumptuous and proud past. Forget the guilt of not being  _ enough _ to save everyone.

And then Claude stopped talking. His eyes met hers, and the thunderous cacophony of rallying soldiers was suddenly silent to Byleth’s ears.

She was a tattered rag wrung dry. She was threadbare; she was hollow; she was  _ overflowing _ \- and it was too much.

_ Be honest _ .  _ Be honest. Be honest _ . They were the only words her mind could cling to, and they drove her to step up beside him.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” she said into his ear, her words made private by the drowning sensation of noise around them. “Something personal.”

They hadn’t spoken of any personal affairs since they’d hit the road yesterday. Instead, this past day, their conversations had danced around any topics of the heart, instead determinedly focused on the battle at hand.

His gaze seared her. “After the battle,” he said sharply.

_ Ha _ . Hadn’t all of her excuses been cut from the same cloth?  _ After the battle. _ She'd been so adamant that she couldn’t tell him the truth about her feelings while duty weighed so heavily on their shoulders. There was always something more important. There was always  _ later _ for truth.

But later didn’t always come. Later never came for Hubert; for Dimitri; for Ferdinand; for Manuela; for Spades. Byleth had seen to it. And she should have known better, because later never came for Captain Jeralt, either.

“My father said something to that effect,” she retorted. “But then he died.”

“I won’t make that mistake,” Claude promised. “I won’t die.”

There were many promises being made about death today, it seemed. “People who die in battle rarely go in  _ intending _ to die,” she pointed out dryly.

But Claude didn’t pay her any heed, instead gripping her arm so tightly that she almost gasped. “My friend, I imagine there’s only two possible things you can say to me right now,” he said, “and either one would drive me to distraction. You drive me to distraction enough as is.” And before Byleth could form a response, Claude had turned back to face their shared army.

Byleth stared, dumbfounded.

_ Wait - _

“Today, we unify Fodlan,” Claude announced. “ _ Are you ready? _ ”

The soldiers cheered. Byleth’s mind fumbled.  _ Be honest _ , it crescendoed, frantically rising to meet the volume of the roar around her.  _ Be honest, be honest, be honest! _

But he -

“Let us march!” Claude said, dropping his raised hand to grip the reigns of Aldebaran and gracefully leaping onto his back.

But - what did he  _ mean? _ And did he just - did he just  _ dismiss  _ her?!

Around her, the crowd began to move. Began to charge.

And Byleth moved too, but whether she was charging ahead with everyone else, or if she was  _ chasing after the man who dismissed her with a line like “you drive me to distraction enough as is” _ \- 

She couldn’t really say.

All she knew was that Claude had  _ better _ survive this upcoming battle. She’d Divine Pulse a million times if she had to.

Because she  _ wouldn’t _ let him die before he explained himself to her.

_ Be honest _ .

And, she admitted quietly to herself... he couldn’t die before she had the chance to explain herself to  _ him _ .


	22. T is for Traitor (Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t until Earl Grey and his Countess had wandered back into his life that he’d seen a promotion of sorts at his gig. 
> 
> How convenient that the Countess wanted to send him back into the domain of the Agarthans as a spy. Even he couldn’t come up with a cover more failsafe than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest of thank you's to Stealthflower for the edits.

His real name was Asher.

His mother had purportedly picked it for its meaning of _ blessed _ and _ fortune _. He had enjoyed the moniker when he was younger, even though the situation he’d been born into was neither blessed nor fortuitous. He’d had three older brothers, one of whom died young after succumbing to illness; his father had offended the wrong man and had consequently been beaten within an inch of his life; and in Asher’s early childhood, he himself had developed a physical ailment of spontaneous muscle spasms that he’d been forced to endure to this very day.

Because despite everything, he had believed that if the world wouldn’t give him luck, he could make it for himself - so he’d trained himself to keep his eyes open, always on the hunt for any opening that he could turn into opportunity. He’d discovered the underground that way. He had taught himself to count cards that way.

A fat lot of good it did him. Now, all these years later, his efforts had brought him here, playing double agent to the most powerful forces in Fodlan, feeling decidedly _ un _lucky.

Clarence had the right of it - wherever she ended up. He’d been seeing her less and less at the card table as the war dragged on, but Asher couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her at all. He liked to think that she’d made enough money from banditry to get out of Fodlan, but it was equally viable that she’d ended up dead like so many others. Either way, Asher envied her situation.

He had thought he’d made the safe bet, allying himself with the organization tipped to win - the organization with the advanced technology, the organization whose enemies _ didn’t even know that they existed _ . But Clarence hadn’t wanted any part of it, despite his appeal to her that _ these _ were the people who had the means to offer them protection.

He should’ve listened. He was the one who knew how to gamble, but Clarence was the one who knew how to quit while she was ahead.

And now, he was no longer the boy who grinned up at the world, thinking he could spin misfortune into gold. He was not a man who deserved the name his mother had chosen for him.

And if he was not Asher, he might as well go by Fidget.

* * *

He was originally hired for a singular purpose: funnel poor unsuspecting souls into their experimentation pipeline. After all, he was well qualified as a denizen of Fodlan’s underbelly. He knew what sorts of people wouldn’t be missed if they one day disappeared, and he knew where to hunt for them to remain discreet.

He also knew that these people he siphoned away would most likely end up dead. But what profession these days was blood-free? Clarence had reaped her fair share of souls too, jumping on unsuspecting travelers passing through Garreg Mach for whatever little gold they carried. In that regard, what Fidget did wasn’t so different.

It wasn’t until Earl Grey and his Countess had wandered back into his life that he’d seen a _ promotion _ of sorts at his gig. They’d asked him for summer fabric in the dead of winter, and he’d reported their intent to move into Ailell. His employers, then, had fed him with seemingly endless yards of linen and strict instructions to stay close to the archbishop stand-in bearing the Crest of Flames.

How _ convenient _ that the Countess wanted to send him back into the domain of the Agarthans as a spy. Even he couldn’t come up with a cover more failsafe than _ that _.

* * *

The worst part about Fidget’s job was the _ people _.

The Agarthans boasted blanched-white skin that made his pallor look positively sun-kissed by comparison, and their seemingly unseeing white eyes chilled him to the bone. But he preferred them to the others in the organization who looked like him - because who knew which of them were from above like himself, and which of them were Agarthans disguised in the skins of the dead?

Before he’d received his unofficial promotion, he hadn’t needed to interact with anyone much. There was a place to deposit the victims he’d drugged and prepped for the mages’ testing, and they otherwise had mostly left him alone. _ Now _ , however, his work calendar featured meetings with Thales himself - the most monstrous and powerful of the lot - and standing across from the leader of Those Who Slither In the Dark was most definitely _ not _ a blessed or fortuitous place to be.

“So,” Thales said lightly, claw-like fingers tapping rhythmically along the edge of his staff. “Where did you say you met this lovely new recruit?”

Fidget swallowed. “The tables,” he said. “Years back. She’s a regular gambler, you see - usually bets on horses, but that day she showed up to play cards instead. Funny story, really - so this horse named _ The Equestrian Empire _ \- a play on the Adrestian Empire, of course. You know how all the horses have fun little names - ”

Thales’ smile was slight as he stood, silencing Fidget. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” He paced a circle around the room, and Fidget felt like he was being rotisseried, readied to be carved onto a dinner plate. “Suppose I inform you that I am aware your new recruit is a Knight of Seiros. _ Now _.” He stopped in front of Fidget, placing the end of his staff down in front of him. “Remind me once more - where did you meet her?”

Fidget’s hand compulsively twitched at his side. “I told you - at the poker tables. I know she’s a Knight,” he said hurriedly. “I mean, even if I hadn’t met her at the tables years ago, I would’ve known when the archbishop wanted to send her in with me. But you know - Shamir doesn’t believe in the Church. She’s not even _ from _ Fodlan. She told me herself, she was just a merc repaying a debt. And I figure - there’s no harm in bringing her in, right? Use her as a double agent, or kill her if you don’t trust her - I mean, it’s still a point in our favor, so I played along.”

Thales leaned in closer, and Fidget’s sense of smell was filled with something distinctly earthly and sour. “And if we kill her and have one of our own assume her physical form?”

“Like I said,” Fidget maintained, heart pounding furiously. “Point in our favor.”

To Fidget’s great relief, Thales leaned back and smirked.

“It was a stupid idea, looking back,” Fidget admitted, feeling a little more relaxed now that Thales _ wasn’t _mere inches from his face. “I mean, you’ve already got Emperor Edelgard in your pocket - so why would you need a Knight of Seiros, too?”

Thales’s lips thinned and Fidget clamped his maw shut. He was overstepping.

“Enough of you,” Thales said. “Bring the Knight in.”

Fidget’s gut twisted as he was led away.

If his poor ma could see her Asher now.

* * *

But then, despite the odds that Fidget had been tracking in his mind, the emperor fell and fell _ hard _.

Maybe Fidget had counted the cards wrong. Or - more likely - the Agarthans had let the emperor fall. But _ why? _

“_ So _ ,” drawled the girl lounging across from him, resting her head against her arm. She shared the same white hair as Thales, but her irises were pink and her skin was more like his than theirs. _ Valerie _ , Fidget reminded himself. _ Valerie, with a minor crest of something-or-other, the latest success story of their experimentation line _ . He himself had presented Valerie to the mages running the circus and helped her settle within Agarthan ranks. (“Um, excuse me, but there’s a _ war _ out there,” she had said as the head mages deliberated what to do with her after Fidget brought her in. “You are _ not _ going to dump me back there after everything you’ve done to me.” And somehow, she’d ended up in Thales’ personal employ - but whether it was because she amused him or if Thales wanted to keep a closer eye on her, Fidget couldn’t say.)

“So,” Fidget said.

“What’s next, do you think?” she said. “Now that Edelgard’s - well, you know.”

Fidget didn’t know. And even if he did know, he wasn’t sure how much he could tell _ Valerie _, anyway. “You’re the one working with Thales,” Fidget pointed out. “Figured you’d be the one to know.”

Valerie rolled her eyes and released a dramatic sigh. “Thales just has me running errands. _ Bor-ing _ . I almost told him the other day that if he just wanted a runner, he didn’t need to implant a _ crest _ on me first.” She giggled to herself at the thought. “But, of course, I didn’t. He can be kind of _ scary _.”

Scary was an understatement when it came to describing Thales.

“You know, I thought he’d be more fussed when Enbarr fell,” Valerie said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “But he’s moved on _ completely _ .” Her eyes darted around the room and she dropped her voice, leaning in closer to Fidget. “I think he’s fixated on this _ chalice _.”

Fidget froze. “The chalice,” he repeated dumbly.

Valerie nodded emphatically. “I know you told him that it’s probably a trap, but that hasn’t deterred him at _ all _. I think that he has plans to use it to resurrect someone.”

Fidget frowned. _ Resurrect who? _ Edelgard? Couldn’t be her - because it would’ve been easier to just defend her at Enbarr than let her die, steal a chalice, and resurrect her... right?

What other horrors were kept down here in this underground labyrinth? Whoever Thales had in mind to resurrect - was this why he’d let go his grip on Edelgard? Because he had someone with the propensity to be so much _ worse? _

“But, who knows?” Valerie said more loudly now, stretching backwards. “Not my job to think about these things. I’m just the one who fetches his tea and cranks all the levers that he can’t be bothered to turn himself. Speaking of which.” She stood, tossing her long white hair over her shoulder. “I should probably get going.”

Fidget nodded, silent. He knew he had a tendency to ramble, and he had to watch himself around Valerie.

But as she started to leave, she hesitated. “Can I just say - ” Valerie started suddenly, before her voice retracted into something smaller. “I’m glad I have you to talk to.”

And he understood. Felt the same, even. Though their roles were different, it was a relief to know that there was someone here he could relate to. Someone who understood _ why _ he was here, working for a race of maybe-humans whose visage was the textbook illustration of _ evil. _

But Fidget didn’t know how to say that - especially not in a place like this - so he said instead, “Shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Valerie grimaced. Clearly, that had _ not _ been what she’d hoped he would say, but it was too late to change the words now. She said nothing more as she departed to attend to her duties, leaving Fidget alone to stare long and hard at the empty stone wall before him.

Fidget often claimed that he wished he were brave enough to die.

But he wasn’t.

And he just wanted to survive this damn war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thought we were here for fun and games, and that The Conversation would finally happen. _You have no idea how hard it was to keep this chapter a secret._
> 
> That's all for our interlude, for now. We'll resume our regular programming shortly.


	23. T is for Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I went out for a bit of fresh air,” Claude defended. “You don’t know what you can do to a man.”
> 
> Of course she knew what she could do to a man. She could gut them, skewer them, slice through them.
> 
> And she’d heard about what some women could do to men, the women who had coy smiles and perfumed wrists and witty brains built for clever wordplay. They could bend men’s bodies, toy with their hearts, persuade their minds. But that had never been her. She’d never known how to do any of that. Her methods were as blunt as her blade was sharp, her father had often said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A round of applause to STEALTHFLOWER for her amazing quality control work. Thank you!

“Do you know what Edelgard said to me, after we’d faced off in Ailell?”

His gaze was distant, his face expressionless. Behind the closed doors to Byleth’s bedroom, Claude didn’t bother with plastering on his pretend smile, mimicking the relief and glory he was  _ supposed _ to be feeling after finally uniting Fódlan under a single banner. Because the letter that Hubert had posthumously delivered confirmed two things: first, that the war was not yet over; and second, that the enemy they vanquished were not as entrenched in Agarthan pockets as they had previously thought, and that the people they had cleaned out may have been potential  _ allies _ .

No potential for  _ that _ , anymore - and it was a bitter truth to swallow.

Byleth shook her head, lips set to a grim line. She didn’t know Edelgard well enough to guess what the emperor might have said all those months back.

Claude barely acknowledged the movement, still caught up in a memory. “She told me she was jealous that I had your aid.”

Jealous. She wouldn’t have thought...

_ I wanted to walk with you _ .

Unbidden, Edelgard’s last words echoed through Byleth’s mind, accompanied by a vision of lavender eyes that widened and then unfocused. There was an axe that clattered to the ground, and a sword that whipped across red platemail.  _ Her _ sword, Byleth knew. It was  _ her _ hand that had dealt the final blow, and yet her emotions wouldn’t reconcile with the knowledge.

The confrontation had been so surreal, and Byleth was still puzzling over it.  _ My teacher _ , Edelgard had called her in those final moments. Edelgard, who had declared war on the Church, who denounced the goddess, had called Byleth  _ my teacher _ in her dying moments.

_ I wanted to walk with you. _

And perhaps it was the wrong reaction to have, but Byleth couldn’t help but  _ wonder _ at the statement.

Claude’s train of thought was following a different path. “If only they hadn’t kept their cards so close to their chest,” he continued grimly, “or if  _ we _ hadn’t kept our cards so close to ours - ”

A different path indeed, and a  _ dangerous _ one. One that would do them no good.

She cut him off sharply, “Whoever reveals their hand will bleed for it.” Claude turned his gaze onto her, but they were still unseeing. Byleth tempered her voice, but only a little. “We did the best we could, given the information we had. Do not doubt that.”

Claude wasn’t convinced. “But what if - “

“There are no what if’s,” Byleth interrupted. “This is the only reality that matters.”

When one had the power to rewind time, "what if" questions paved the road to self destruction. Sometimes they wormed their way into her mind anyway:  _ What if you had been more attentive to Dimitri before the war? What if you had earned Edelgard's confidence and had been able to advise against the war? _

To indulge in such questions would mean losing her sanity, and that was too valuable to give up. When one had the power to rewind time, one needed to know how to move forward.

But Claude’s lips were starting to tip into a frown, and Byleth pursed hers. This wasn’t working, she knew. His regrets were still eating away at him.

Then again… could she blame him? Because  _ nothing _ about the past few days had been easy, and it left  _ her _ scrambling to get a grip over her emotions. And if Enbarr had left  _ her _ so winded, then what sort of toll was it taking on Claude?

Maybe she was asking too much of him. After all,  _ he _ wasn’t the one burdened with the power to turn back time, and between the two of them,  _ he _ was the dreamer. The one with lofty ambitions. Perhaps  _ what if  _ questions were what he needed to heal.

And - he’d been through so much, she thought, studying him. He only came to Fodlan in the first place to build peace and respect between two nations, and instead he’d been thrust into war. He wasn’t like her, whose mercenary training prepared her for this. Battles were just another job, for the most part, and she’d been doing jobs her whole life.

But underneath all of Claude’s cunning, he was  _ good _ . More whole than her, in some ways. And being forced to turn his blade against his former classmates - the very classmates he’d come to Fodlan to connect with, the very classmates he’d once hoped to have as diplomatic allies to see his dream into fruition...

The edges of her resolve softened, and Byleth sighed and relented. She’d allow him the reprieve she could never allow herself. Because - he deserved it. Because - because she loved him.

_ Because she loved him _ . A truth she still hadn’t found time to voice, given all that had happened. It seemed… inappropriate, considering.

Byleth ducked under the table and pulled out a pair of shot glasses. “One game,” she said, clearing her throat. “We’ll air our hearts. But after tonight, we need to move on.”

His faraway gaze refocused onto her, and Byleth pretended like she wasn’t relieved to win his attention away from his laments. She uncorked her scotch and generously filled each glass - but no sooner had she filled both did one mysteriously empty.

Byleth narrowed her eyes as Claude slammed down an empty shot glass with a cheeky grin that contrasted with his solemn eyes. “We didn’t start playing yet,” she accused.

“Thought I’d give you an edge,” he said airily, but Byleth knew better.

She threw back her shot, too - though it really was a crime to be drinking her good scotch like this.“You’re the one that needs the handicap,” she returned, even though really, they both just needed the alcohol to distract them from their senses.

“You sure about that?” Claude challenged, raising his eyebrows - and it threw Byleth off, because that was  _ her _ thing.  _ She _ was the one with the skeptical looks, and  _ he _ was supposed to be the one with the teasing smiles. “It’s been a while since we both played, and I’ve had more practice at lying.”

Byleth paused, frowning.  _ Lying at what? _ Had he lied to her about anything? He couldn’t have - after all, she’d notice, right?

_ Nevermind, _ Byleth told herself.  _ He’s just playing the game _ . He was just trying to get in her head before they began in a classic schemer move. It was nothing more.

“I’ll start,” Byleth said, deciding to ignore him as she refilled their glasses. She leveled with Claude, running a finger around the rim of her glass, considering him for a moment. “I never cared for Hubert.”

Sitting before Claude’s calculating gaze, Byleth realized that the last time they played this game, she hadn’t yet been in love with him. Or, at least - she hadn’t yet  _ realized _ it. It was impossibly more difficult now to  _ not _ fidget a little in her seat as his eyes roamed over her face, her body, her hands - searching for tells.

_ Perhaps this game wasn’t the best idea _ . She fought to stay still in her seat while the room felt like it was closing in on her.

“Lie,” Claude decided finally. He leaned back into his chair, his gaze never once leaving hers. “He was your kill, right? You had to have cared at least a  _ little _ then, if not anytime else.”

“Really,” Byleth returned, folding her arms - a picture of cool collectedness. “You do recall that I was the Ashen Demon.”

“Key word,  _ was _ ,” Claude said, winking, and he was suddenly donning his faux-casual air once more, mirroring her impression of composure in his own way. “But for some reason, I recall that at some point in the middle of our school year, the Ashen Demon who’d been assigned as professor was somehow replaced by our very own lovable  _ Teach _ . Maybe thanks to a bit of influence from the ever-affable Golden Deer, perhaps?”

Byleth tried not to grimace.  _ Lovable? _ Is that really what he thought of her?

“Well,” she said, trying not to sound too grudging. “You’d be right. On both accounts, it seems.”

Claude’s eyes widened for a moment before his lips pulled up further into a smile that was a touch more earnest this time. “Oh, really?” He leaned in. “Was there any of the Golden Deer you found  _ particularly _ affable?”

“Yes,” Byleth deadpanned. “Ignatz.”

He laughed, falling back into his chair. “Well, I suppose even I can’t argue with that. Guess that makes it my turn now.” He ran a hand along his beard, eyes unfocused once more. “Edelgard disliked me from the start. I wish I knew why - between her vision for a new Fodlan, and Hubert’s penchant for schemes - I thought we could’ve gotten along. Her refusal of friendship was the greatest injury I’d felt in a while.”

Byleth recalled that on those occasions when the house leaders had gathered, Edelgard  _ had _ been rather contemptuous of Claude. Claude, in turn, seemed rather blase about it all and took to calling Edelgard  _ princess _ with saccharine sweetness. Had that, too, been a cover?

_ Heavens _ . She was their  _ professor _ . She should’ve recognized it and done what she could to facilitate a respectful relationship between the house leaders. Between this and the revelation she’d had when speaking to Marianne, Byleth was realizing too late how remiss she had been in her responsibilities.

“Truth?” she guessed.

Claude nodded grimly.

Byleth pursed her lips for a moment before managing, “I’m sorry.” She could only imagine what that must have been like - to have initially pinned his hopes of an open border between Almyra and Fodlan on winning over the heirs to the Kingdom and Empire, and then have those hopes fall so  _ flat _ . He’d  _ reinvented _ himself from Khalid to Claude to meet them. He must have studied Fodlani culture and history and  _ language _ for months, maybe even years - and to what end? To have been dismissed for not being  _ serious _ enough? For not being trustworthy enough?

Claude’s eyes slid to hers. “For what?”

She was sorry for everything. For this war. For his pain. For their shared suffering. For  _ Fodlan’s _ shared suffering.

“For never having done anything about it,” was what she said instead. “I’m learning that there was a lot I never noticed.” It felt a bit like walking down the stairs and missing a step, Byleth thought. She’d always prided herself on being able to read people and circumstances. That was why she was good at poker; that was why she was a proficient tactician. But now, confronted with all these truths that she had no idea existed -  _ did _ she know how to read situations? What was she  _ missing? _

Claude’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “Oh, really?” he said dryly. “Do share, Teach, what else you’ve never noticed?”

It didn’t seem right to be the one to share Marianne’s story, so Byleth simply shook her head and diverted the conversation back.

“With me, well - Edelgard  _ liked _ me from the start. Even at the very end, she said - she said,  _ I wanted to walk with you _ . She called me  _ my teacher _ . And I don’t know why,” Byleth admitted. “Compared to other students, she and I weren’t close. That she wanted me to be the one to kill her… I don’t know what I did to earn that kind of…”

Byleth trailed off. It was hard to articulate exactly  _ what _ she found so jarring about meeting Edelgard for the final time. It wasn’t admiration, or fondness, or even respect. But  _ something _ had compelled Edelgard towards Byleth, and that Byleth didn’t reciprocate that opinion with the same fervor had left the whole situation rather wanting.

How ironic. That between Byleth and Claude, one of them had craved her good regard but it was undeservedly given to the other.

“She favored you,” Claude agreed. “And it seems just like you to not understand why, so I’ll stick to  _ truth _ on this one.”

Byleth frowned. “You know why?”

“I think the world can see why,” Claude said, his expression softening to something more affectionate. “My friend, you are a force to be reckoned with. It’s why the three of us - I mean, Dimitri, Edelgard, and I - all wanted you on our side. And as the months passed, I learned that you weren’t another Jeritza, so to speak. You weren’t just someone to fear on the battlefield. When you arrived, you were a mercenary, not a professor - but you didn’t let that stop you. You listened to your students. You worked evenings to afford the best weapons and supplies. You learned magic in your off hours so you could better teach it. And we - the Golden Deer - all profited from your efforts. No wonder Edelgard was jealous that you had chosen us instead of her. If you’d have picked the Black Eagles all those years ago, I would’ve felt the same.”

He had leaned forward onto the desk, his hands inches away from capturing her own calloused fingers. And there was a clarity in his eyes that spoke of such an ardor that it left Byleth wondering how anyone could  _ not _ find him trustworthy, how anyone could  _ not _ love him -

“You know this, right?” he asked insistently.

_ Did _ she know this? It was disorienting to hear herself so described from a point of view besides her own, but that it was  _ Claude _ who spoke so highly of her… Something inside her glowed with an uplifting warmth, and it was radiating outward to touch her skin and lightly flush it red.

She didn’t know what to say in response.

“Is this your truth or lie statement?” Byleth said.

Claude laughed, easing back into his chair. His hands slipped back across the table, further away from her own, before they disappeared interlaced behind his head. “That would be too easy,” he said, “because you should  _ know _ it’s truth.”

After the battle they’d fought where they laid a city to waste - after the regrets of that battle when they’d received that damned letter from Hubert - Claude could  _ still _ find a way to make room for these pockets of appreciation.

She hoped he’d never lose that. It was part of why she loved him, she supposed.

“Thank you,” Byleth said finally. “It means a lot.” She paused. “And - and  _ you _ should know, I would never change my decision to instruct the Golden Deer. These past few years have been everything to me.”

“All right, Teach. Don’t get  _ too _ sentimental on me,” Claude teased - and whatever tension was starting to slowly build in the air was dispelled. He was always good at commanding a relaxing atmosphere. “Or you’ll have to commit your whole evening to comforting a sobbing mess of a man.”

Byleth arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Sobbing mess of a man?” she repeated. “ _ You? _ ”

“Never seen a grown man cry before?” he said, casually tipping his chair onto its hind two legs.

She scoffed. “I’ve  _ made _ grown men cry before,” she corrected him. And she had, plenty of times. When she slid their life savings into her satchel because they’d gambled poorly and lost. When she pressed her knife against their throats and threatened their very lives. “But never made them cry out of  _ goodwill  _ before.”

“And let’s not make today the first,” Claude said, winking. “I still have to maintain an image to impress you.”

_ If only he knew how much that was a nonissue _ , Byleth thought wryly. As if he could possibly impress her any  _ more _ .

“It’s your turn,” Byleth pointed out.

Claude held his hands up in the air in mock surrender. “All right, all right, I’m thinking,” he said. He tilted his head, and Byleth counted the moments that passed. “How’s this? I’ve always been known as the worst fighter in my family.”

She frowned.  _ Worst fighter? _

This was… this was hard to believe. As his former combat professor, she  _ knew _ that he had skills to boast of from before even coming to Garreg Mach - no doubt due to being tutored by none other than  _ Nader the Undefeated.  _ And those skills had been impressively honed over the past few years by war. There wasn’t another archer Byleth knew of who could shoot with both deadly accuracy and power like Claude could, and there wasn’t another archer Byleth knew of who was equally dynamic with the axe in melee. All while atop a  _ wyvern _ .

To imagine that he’d be the  _ worst _ fighter in his family… how strong were his relatives?

...Could she persuade him to introduce them to her so she could test their strength in a sparring match?

Byleth shook herself. That was neither here nor there.

_ Focus on the tells _ , she reminded herself.  _ Ignore the words _ . How many times had she had to tell herself this around Claude recently?

But this past year of working together so closely - of charting battles and plotting schemes - of being  _ equals _ rather than student and teacher - had made Claude far more comfortable around Byleth, and so there  _ was _ no tightness of the shoulders. He hadn’t even bothered putting on his mask of fake smiles this time, instead watching her with open curiosity and anticipation.

Which meant that either he’d managed to obscure his tells, or…

“Truth,” Byleth supposed.

His face split into wicked delight. “Drink,” he said. “I’ll have you know, I was known as the  _ second _ worst fighter in the family, thank you very much.”

The scotch left a pleasing trail of warmth as it made its way through her body. “ _ Second _ worst?” Byleth repeated. “I’m not sure if I want to hear more about the  _ best _ fighter in your family, or the  _ worst _ .”

Claude’s mouth dropped open in mock affront. “ _ That’s _ your first reaction?” he said. “Not,  _ oh, Claude, you could never be the second worst fighter in your family _ \- ”

“First of all,” Byleth said, interrupting, “that is the worst impression of me that I’ve ever heard.” Also quite possibly the only impression, given that not many people dared to mock her to her face. “Second of all, perhaps you should’ve been more offended when I said  _ truth _ to your being the  _ worst _ fighter in your family.”

There was also the fact that she apparently wasn’t able to read the lie from his body language. Did that mean something? Did that mean she could’ve also misread the possibility of him loving her back?  _ You drive me to distraction _ , he’d said before they’d stormed the castle. She’d thought he was being honest, but if she couldn’t  _ read _ him -

_ No _ , Byleth said sharply to herself.  _ We’re not going down this road again. _ It was - probably because his lie had been so very close to the truth. Yes. That was it. That was the reason.

Claude snapped his mouth shut and grinned. “Touche,” he said. “And don’t worry about sneaking off to find my family and spar them for the training - I doubt that I’m anywhere  _ near _ the worst fighter in the family  _ now _ . So if you’re looking to duel, you need look no further than  _ this _ .” He waved an arm suggestively at his body.

She was  _ not _ going to blush, damn it. And if she did… it was only the alcohol that was making her flush again, really.

“I wasn’t thinking about sparring your family,” Byleth lied.

His grin didn’t fade. “Of course not,” he agreed with pompous bravado, which meant that he believed her not at all - and Byleth’s stomach churned a little.  _ Thinks he knows her so well, does he? _ Though Claude might know her best out of anyone still alive, Byleth liked to think that she still had  _ some _ mysterious allure left in her, thank you very much.

And Byleth was mildly alarmed - and more than mildly  _ annoyed - _ that he was so familiar with her ins and outs as to be able to call her out on her bullshit, while he had so smugly tricked her with a lie. Therefore, it was more out of a desire to knock the grin off of him than anything when Byleth snapped, “It’s my turn.”

Claude was in the midst of pontificating, “By all means - ” when Byleth spoke over him and said shortly, “You love me.”

Claude stilled. The edges of his smile were frozen.

The surge of victory Byleth felt lasted only a moment before she fully realized what she’d said.

Well… fuck.

Shit.

_ Fuck. _

This hadn’t been the way Byleth had originally thought to confront Claude with her emotional attachment to him. She’d meant to preface it with disclaimers -  _ it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. Nothing needs to change. And if you’d rather it, I can make it so this conversation never happened _ . She certainly hadn’t intended to  _ accuse _ him of the one thing she wanted so desperately to be true.

In truth, his words -  _ you drive me to distraction  _ \- had been ringing in her ears ever since he had spoken them, driving  _ Byleth _ to distraction so much that she’d almost taken a critical hit from a Pegasus knight in the following bloodbath before Felix yanked her out of the way. And no matter where she was, she kept coming back to those words, hoping that maybe they meant exactly what she wanted them to mean.

And now she’d voiced in no uncertain terms what that was.

Claude was silent and watching. Like predator to prey, Byleth thought, chilled. It had been a while since he’d guarded himself so completely from her - as if she were a stranger he didn’t trust.

Byleth inhaled deeply. She’d put her foot in her mouth again, indeed. She’d have to do what she always did in such scenarios - and  _ lean into it _ . It was too late to back out now.

In poker, the numbers were never guaranteed. She had to take a leap of faith once they were in her favor - and in this game, she had been playing conservatively for so long. It was perhaps time for all that to come to an end.

“And,” Byleth said - and for fuck’s sake, she was  _ not _ drunk enough for this - “I’m in love with you.”

Claude didn’t move. Didn’t react.

And she swore, if he said  _ lie _ , she’d have to drink the whole bottle of scotch until she blacked out and could properly purge this night from her memory -

\- or better yet, force  _ Claude _ to drink the rest of the bottle and force  _ him _ to forget her ever confessing, and  _ then _ Divine Pulse this timeline out of existence -

But before she could even conceive of how to convince Claude to drown his memories in alcohol, her gaze caught on his lips. It was a small movement, but they’d  _ parted _ , and a rivlet of  _ something _ leaked from his stone-faced façade that she could suddenly read in those tensed shoulders, in the slight dilation of his pupils that darkened his eyes to a forested green, in the brief flexing of his fingers.

“Please tell me,” he finally managed to say, his voice cracking. “Please tell me it’s  _ truth _ .”

Her throat had dried.

It didn’t matter. She had no words, anyway.

_ He - he wants this to be true. _

_ It’s true. _

_ It’s  _ -

Byleth nodded mutely. Once. Twice. Then -

“ _ Byleth _ ,” Claude whispered, and Byleth’s last functioning thought remarked that for a man who disregarded religion, he certainly knew how to call upon her name like a prayer -

And then he stood, the chair clattering loudly to the ground behind him, but neither of them gave it any mind. If his physical tells had been a rivlet before, then the dam had now burst: this energy, this  _ fire _ was spilling out of him, and Byleth thought that if stared for too long, she’d be singed, frayed,  _ consumed _ \- but she  _ wanted _ this. She  _ wanted _ his gaze to sear her, and there was a terrifying delight in the way it made her all of a sudden too aware of her own body - of the fit of her clothes, of how the fabric brushed against her skin when she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, of how constricting the bodice of her armored shirt suddenly felt.

_ Ignited _ , she thought. No matter its namesake, her Crest of Flames had never made her feel as alive as  _ this _ .

Her room was too small, too cluttered. And  _ Claude _ , Claude whom she loved -  _ who loved her back, who loved  _ her _ of all the people he could choose to love  _ \- felt infinitely far away in this busy room, but it didn’t stop him; instead, he swiftly slid onto the table that separated them and pulled her up to meet him. He ran one hand along her thigh, guiding it to wrap around his waist, and where he touched her, her skin burned.

“Claude,” she whispered back - and was that  _ her voice? _ It sounded so chapped to her ears -

His other hand snaked around the back of her head and brought it down to meet his lips, and then his hand was tangling in her hair as his tongue ran over her lower lip and then  _ his _ lips were catching in  _ her _ teeth, and he tasted like smoke and whiskey and  _ this was real, this wasn’t a dream _ -

Her pulse hammered loudly in her ears. His dominant hand was still running along the outer edge of her thigh, back and forth, back and forth, in an absolutely  _ maddening _ pattern, as his fingers refused to stray inward towards where she  _ wanted _ them. Towards where a thread of fire was coiling tighter within her, threatening to spill over and ruin her lace tights -

And heavens, why had they waited this long? She could  _ drown _ in him like this for another lifetime or two, with the way his lips ensnared hers, gently sucking them and tracing them as if he wanted to feel every curve of her mouth -

Until it was gone, and he had pulled back, and his arms had shot up to grab her by the shoulders and she’d been pushed back a few inches, loosening the lock her leg had around his hips, and all she could think was  _ why, why, why’d it stop _ , while the heat within her was unrelenting and  _ yearning _ for his touch -

“How long have you known?”

It took a moment for his words to register. She’d only noticed that he’d spoken because his eyes had sharpened into something almost accusatory - or was it...  _ hurt? _ \- and it had yanked her out of the current she’d been swept beneath. “I - what?” she asked, disoriented.

His lips were swollen. She’d done that. She’d do it again, if he’d let her -

“That I loved you,” he clarified, shifting a little. His erection brushed against her stomach. “How long have you known?”

“I didn’t,” she said dumbly, confused. If she’d had known with certainty, she would have spoken a long time ago. What was this about? “I hoped.”

She’d hoped, she’d gambled, and she had been prepared to rewind time in case she lost.

Unexpectedly, he laughed then, and accusation melted back into affection. “You didn’t know.”

“I thought that maybe - when we were in the library, a few nights ago,” Byleth admitted softly as he pressed his lips against her forehead. Her stomach fluttered slightly. “But you were gone when I woke up in the middle of the night.”

“I went out for a bit of fresh air,” Claude defended. “You don’t know what you can do to a man.”

Of course she knew what she could do to a man. She could gut them, skewer them, slice through them.

And she’d heard about what some women could do to men, the women who had coy smiles and perfumed wrists and witty brains built for clever wordplay. They could bend men’s bodies, toy with their hearts, persuade their minds. But that had never been  _ her _ . She’d never known how to do any of that. Her methods were as blunt as her blade was sharp, her father had often said.

He couldn’t possibly be suggesting that she might hold that sort of power over him? She, who rarely smiled, who smelled more often of sweat and blood, whose words came out awkward and stilted.

“And when I came back, you’d left,” Claude continued. “And you were so chilly the next morning, I… I thought it’d be best if I took a step back.”

“You took  _ many _ steps back,” Byleth corrected, furrowing her brow. “Why didn’t you  _ say _ anything?”

“My friend,” Claude said, reeling back as he clutched his heart dramatically, “are you implying that  _ I’m _ the one who’s too tight-lipped?”

Okay, ouch. Low blow.

But  _ she’d  _ been the one to prompt that evening in the library, hadn’t she?  _ She’d _ been the one to force a confession tonight - albeit, perhaps more impulsively than she’d originally planned. What had  _ Claude _ done?

Perhaps he read the thoughts off her face because he said, “I’ve been practically screaming my feelings at you, waiting for you to reciprocate. We went over this earlier - there’s many things you haven’t noticed.”

Sure, spin it around on her. “Maybe you should work on your communication skills, then,” Byleth returned. “It seems you talk much but convey little.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when I’m getting communication tips from Teach,” he said, rolling his eyes but pulling her closer in to him all the same. “You know, as a student, I’d delight in provoking a smile or even a look of annoyance from you. Any sort of response, really. You were so...  _ imperturbable _ .”

Some would argue that she was  _ still _ imperturbable. Most people would, actually.

“But now,” he said, his voice dropping deeper, which was alarming when it was paired with the wicked smirk he was wearing - “I’d like to see if I can provoke out of you that same noise you’d made the other night in Abyss - “

Had the room always been so  _ warm _ ? “What noise? I didn’t make any noise.”

He grinned roguishly. “You did,” he said confidently. “It was a quiet one, but it was there.” He leaned in closer, his breath tickling her ear. Byleth fell into unnatural stillness. “Let me prove it to you,” he said before capturing her earlobe lightly between his teeth -

A sudden knock at her door ripped the two of them apart.

She stared at Claude. His pupils were still dilated, and his hands, which were still gripping her hips, twitched a tighter hold as if he loathed the distance between them -

“I’m looking for two people who are supposedly leading the Fódlan resistance,” came an airy voice outside the door, unmistakably Yuri’s. Claude’s countenance darkened slightly, and Byleth felt herself deflate, the fever in her body quickly deteriorating.  _ What timing _ . “Heard of their whereabouts?”

She afforded herself a few moments to get her breathing under control, slowly disentangling herself from Claude - who, by the way, did nothing to help, instead forcing her to pry off each individual finger off of her while he watched with thin lips.

“We’re here,” Byleth said once she regained moderate control of her senses and looked around. There wasn’t enough room to put a  _ respectful _ amount of distance between her and Claude - not without Claude moving, which he seemed disinclined to do.

No matter. She’d move him, then.

Byleth shoved him further down the desk that he was sitting on and seated herself back down on her chair. There. Now they looked moderately more professional -

“You’re welcome in, by the way,” Byleth offered.

...except for Claude’s heated gaze still fixed upon her, she realized belatedly.

Yuri chuckled from the other side of the door. “I think that tonight, I prefer the air out here - but I appreciate the invitation, friend. Maybe I’ll take you up some other time,” he said.

Byleth stared fixedly at the door and felt rather than saw Claude shift beside her - until his hands found their way to her again, tracing her jawline, the distance she’d put between them be damned. She shot him a look -  _ they were figureheads in this war and professionalism had to come first, what was he doing? - _ but instead she was met with a look of such intense desire and  _ need _ that all the air rushed out from her lungs as her own body responded, flaring with want -

_ No, focus,  _ Byleth tried to remind herself, but she felt the cornerstones of her self control crumbling -

“But for now, I have some things to attend to. Nothing you should trouble yourself with, of course. Just thought you should know that our scouts have reported back. It’s starting.”

Byleth’s attention snapped back to the door.  _ It’s starting? _

“I’ll leave you two to enjoy your evening - but save me the morning, will you, friend?” Yuri chuckled, and Byleth could see his painted smirk as his departing footsteps decrescendoed into silence.

_ It’s starting. _ It was sooner than she thought it would.

Byleth stood, moving to grab her cloak. Regardless of what Yuri said, if the pieces had already begun to move - then she should be there -

But Claude intercepted her hand, using her momentum against her to pull her back up against him. “He’ll still be there tomorrow afternoon.”

_ Afternoon? _ “Tomorrow morning,” Byleth corrected, confused.  _ Save me the morning _ , Yuri had said. It wasn’t like Claude to misquote this egregiously -

“ _ Afternoon _ ,” Claude insisted, his voice taking on a harsher quality. “He’s prepared. It’s his domain. Give  _ me _ your next twelve hours.”

\- but it  _ was _ like Claude to try to massage a situation to mold it to  _ his _ terms. So he wanted more of her time, did he?

It more than just flattered Byleth. Instead, she felt  _ glad _ , almost wondrously so. All this time, she’d known Claude to fixate on his ambitions, and at times she believed that it was all he indexed on. But to know that he wanted  _ her _ passionately enough to set aside the war, if only for a few stolen hours...

And what he said  _ was  _ true. Yuri did seem unaffected, and Byleth did trust in his abilities. It would be incredibly tempting to stay here, with Claude.

But the weight of responsibility nibbled at her. See the job through. Duty first. That was what she’d been taught. That was who she  _ was. _

“One hour,” Byleth bargained. “And then we find Yuri.”

“One hour won’t be enough,” Claude said confidently. “Twelve hours.”

Byleth hid her amusement behind a critical eye. “I can tell I’ve never sent you to the market to purchase supplies for the class,” she said as Claude lowered his lips to her throat. “This isn’t how haggling works.”

“Not every price can be negotiated,” Claude countered, his voice muffled against her neck.

“Coming from you -  _ ah _ ,” she gasped lightly as he nipped a sensitive area - “Coming from you, that’s rich.”

He paused in his administrations to meet her gaze, and his countenance softened slightly. “Twelve hours,” he repeated, more tenderly this time.

And for Byleth’s part - well, she could only resist him for so long. 

Yuri hadn’t asked for their help. Not that it was like Yuri to ask for help at all, unless the situation was dire enough. Would she be discrediting her faith in Yuri’s capabilities if she followed him now?

These past few months had been an exercise in learning how to trust in her students without her overseeing their movements. Learning how to let go and believe in their independent authority. She should extend the same courtesy to her allies. She  _ would _ .

Perhaps Claude’s request wasn’t unreasonable.

“Twelve hours,” she agreed finally.

He smiled then, and the corners of his eyes were still crinkled when he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I should’ve asked for thirteen,” he said wryly.

“You get twelve and not a minute more,” Byleth lied. “Better not let a moment go to waste.” And she kicked the desk out of the way, back towards the wall, and yanked Claude into her bed.

They’d waited long enough for each other, and now the world could wait for them for once.


	24. T is for Tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good afternoon, friend. I heard you and Claude played cards last night.” Yuri slid into the seat across from Byleth, who was currently enjoying her second lunch. She was unusually ravenous today, Raphael had noticed earlier during their shared mealtime, though he’d chalked it up to battle-related muscle gains. Yuri, however, did not seem inclined to let discreet events remain discreet. “I’m hurt I wasn’t extended a welcoming invite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stealthflower is the champion of this chapter - thank you helping me clean up the mess of a plot I've cornered myself into!

It was the heat that woke her.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two after dawn, judging by the angle of the long shadows across her bedroom floor. Claude’s arm was wrapped loosely around her waist and her back was pressed up against his torso - and Byleth blearily wondered if Almyran bodies were made differently than Fodlani ones, because Claude’s body temperature was running hotter than a damn  _ furnace. _

She shifted slightly, meaning to put a little distance between them so that she could cool down - but instead she elicited a groan from him as he pulled her closer to him. His head was nestled into her neck and she felt the breath of a contented sigh against her nape before his breath evened back out into the patterns of sleep. Seemingly in response, a milder warmth yawned inside of her, a mixture of contentment and delight.

_ He loved her. He loved her. He loved her. _

She hadn’t the time to properly process it yesterday, distracted as they both were by adrenaline and need and searing emotion. But now, in the tender quiet of the morning after, she could wonder and puzzle at it - at how amidst the horror of war, life had carved out for her a something so extraordinary as Claude loving her back.

Or, she  _ would _ puzzle over it, if she could get enough air to cool down and  _ think _ .

More gently this time, Byleth extracted herself from Claude’s embrace, tip-toeing her way across the room to wrap herself in a thin robe before sitting down.

Last night…

Heavens,  _ last night _ . If not for the ache in her thighs, she might not have believed it had happened at all. It was so much more than their first time together, that night in the library, when the tension of pre-battle nerves was high. Yesterday, something had  _ burst _ , and she could hardly describe how she’d felt so powerful and vulnerable all at once, as if she were both the wind that roared and the trees that bent before it. Like she’d conquered an impossible summit, but she had to break open the shell of her heart upon its cliffs to surmount it.

It had changed her, last night, when he’d finally whispered into her ear as sleep was starting to claim them both - “ _ My friend, I love you. With everything I am. _ ”

She was now a woman in requited love, and that new epithet was enough to shift her entire mindset.

Because  _ now _ she could finally let herself admit how lonely she’d been her whole life. Of course, she’d been content, even happy. She had Jeralt for a father’s love, and eventually, she had Sothis for a mother’s love - even if only for a short time. But she’d built a reputation and an identity around her independence and her strangeness, and she took pride in it. Even her Deer who gave her more than the companionship she’d had with her fellow mercenaries, who had softened the edges of the Ashen Demon, did not succeed in crumbling all of her walls.

But if this is what she could have if she would share her independence with someone?

Years ago, she’d decided to set aside her own ego to help someone else pursue their dreams. But… when had his dreams become hers?

She looked at Claude, with his hair swept in disarray, with the features of his face resting in rare solemnity. If she could have Ignatz paint this for her - she’d possess the proof to ruin his carefully crafted reputation as a rogue.

Then, slowly, her gaze was dragged down his chest, towards where the sheets were draped across the dip of his waist, to where they were tented with the proof of morning -

Yes. She would  _ very _ much like to have a painting of this to keep.

_ But then again _ , she thought, wetting the lips that she suddenly realized were dry -  _ maybe it’s best to keep this to myself _ . She didn’t believe she could find it in her to share this view with anyone.

“Coin for your thoughts?” Byleth’s eyes snapped back up to Claude’s face to find green eyes sleepily watching her and lips twisted into a self-satisfied grin.

_ Ah - damn.  _ How had she managed to be distracted by his body for so long that he’d woken up and caught her staring?

She was  _ not _ going to blush. “I’m feeling generous, so I’ll share them for free,” she said, crossing her legs. “I was thinking that your twelve hours are almost up and you’re using it all on beauty rest.”

He shifted, propping himself on his elbow. “Well, what are you doing all the way over on that side of the room, then?”

“It had a better angle,” Byleth said dismissively.

She didn’t clarify a better angle of  _ what _ \- or  _ who _ , rather - but she didn’t need to. His gaze dropped to her chest, where the thin fabric of her robe was undoubtedly doing little to hide the peaks of arousal.

“I think I prefer the view up close,” he said, finally pulling his eyes up to meet hers again. He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’d like for me to come to  _ you? _ ”

Byleth looked down at the chair she was sitting in, and then at the desk that she’d pushed haphazardly against the wall yesterday evening. “I find I’m quite comfortable here.”

His grin turned devilish as he swung himself out of the bed, the sheets falling away. She maintained eye contact even as he approached her, watching them darken as he leaned his arms in on either side of her chair, caging her - and when he drew back from administering gentle nibbles on her neck, his face had turned serious.

“I would wake to this - to you - every day for the rest of my life, if I could,” he said.

And with that, Byleth’s last reservations about losing long-held defences crumbled as she met his gaze with equal earnestness.

“I love you.” The words were pulled out of her like they were last night - but this time, they escaped in a single quiet breath, like a secret she hadn’t meant to spill. But - it  _ wasn’t _ a secret. Not anymore.

She swallowed. “I love you,” she repeated, trying again, a little louder this time.

He smiled, and -  _ heavens. _ All those smiles before, the ones she’d thought were real, the ones that wrinkled the corners of his eyes, however few they were - had they also been a little fake? Because  _ this _ smile, this smile was  _ brilliant, _ and maybe she didn’t need the new dawn Claude spoke of if she had this smile to light her life -

“I love you,” he said, and then, to match her, he said again - “I love you.”

And then he closed the distance between their confessions.

* * *

“Good afternoon, friend. I heard you and Claude played cards last night.” Yuri slid into the seat across from Byleth, who was currently enjoying her second lunch. She was unusually ravenous today, Raphael had noticed earlier during their shared mealtime, though he’d chalked it up to battle-related muscle gains. Yuri, however, did not seem inclined to let discreet events remain discreet. “I’m hurt I wasn’t extended a welcoming invite.”

“No way, pal! You were playing cards?” And seemingly out of left field, Yuri was suddenly flanked by his Abyssian commanders. Balthus dropped into the spot next to Yuri, and the whole table shook. “Didn’t think to invite me because you heard I haven’t got the money to gamble, yeah? So you know, for next time - gold’s not the only thing that can be bartered!”

Hapi’s face pinched, as if she were holding back a sigh. “For the thousandth time, B - letting people see you shirtless does  _ not _ count as ante.”

“Forgive my interruption,” Constance said, eyes downcast and bowing deeply, “for surely you all comprehend the situation with keener insight than someone so base as I could even hope to imagine - but I do not think Yuri was referring to cards in earnest.”

Byleth never knew how to respond to Constance, in either of her modes. So instead, she chewed slowly and set her fork down, mulling over the possible ways she might steer this conversation back on track.

Not that it had ever  _ been _ on track to begin with, come to think.

“I did invite you in last night,” Byleth said to Yuri, pivoting.

“Ah,” Yuri said, tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment. “But being invited doesn’t equate with being welcomed, does it?”

Byleth narrowed her eyes, refusing to play his game. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet with you this morning. And that Claude isn’t here for your update - a conflicting meeting with Seteth, unfortunately,” she said finally, forcing herself to relax her body. “What is the news from last night?”

Balthus laughed, and Byleth saw more than one person at the table behind him jump in surprise at the sudden noise. “Don’t beat around the bush, do you? All business, this one. No room for small talk.”

“Took you long enough to notice,” Hapi said in that tired way of hers before directing her attention to Byleth. “Anyway, caught a scout last night lurking around the monastery. We managed to get ahold of her and took her in for questioning.” She tilted her head and stretched her arms out, rolling out her shoulders. “Any specifics you want to know, Chatterbox?”

_ A scout. _ It was so soon. “An Agarthan scout?” Byleth clarified.

“All evidence suggests that you are, as usual, correct in your infinite wisdom,” Constance confirmed. “And the fear that I struggle to resolve in my heart is that where there is one scout, there is often others.”

“A fear we all know and grapple with,” Yuri agreed, though his tone was light. “If I were to guess - the enemy is about to make a big move against us.”

“And Yuri’s guesses are usually right,” Balthus added, slapping Yuri on the back. “Wouldn’t want to bet against this one. I’ll tell you that I’ve tried enough to know better by now.”

“And yet you still bet against me often enough, anyway,” Yuri said, shrugging Balthus’ hand off and dusting himself off.

“A scout, sent to our home base,” Byleth said, ignoring the banter as she slowly pieced events together. “And a notable lack of Agarthan support at Enbarr.”

That meant the Agarthans had something in mind that made Edelgard disposable. That they’d committed enough to this new strategy of theirs that they had let Enbarr fall. Something that involved Garreg Mach enough to warrant scouts.

Could it be the Chalice, the bait that Yuri had set up and that Seteth had leaked? But what made the Chalice so powerful that it rendered Edelgard and her army obsolete?

Still, it was so soon, Byleth thought as her stomach sank. They’d barely had any rest, having returned to Garreg Mach only yesterday. They hadn’t had the time to recharge yet - 

_ \- which, of course, would make this the perfect time to attack _ , Byleth finished grimly. They’d been subtle about sneaking troops out into Empire territory, so perhaps Those Who Slithered in the Dark hadn’t realized how vulnerable Garreg Mach was until the battle was already taking place. Which meant that their next best opportunity to infiltrate the monastery would be now, when returning caravans of soldiers and mercenaries were still regular and when the troops were still exhausted. 

And they’d had all last month to prepare, considering that they didn’t have to prepare for Enbarr as the Knights of Seiros did.

Yuri chuckled. “I see you understand my meaning,” he said approvingly. “Good to see that an evening of cards hasn’t dulled your cleverness. The enemy has a plan in place, and they’re just making the final adjustments.”

Hapi tilted her head, looking at Byleth. “Did you want to meet with the prisoner?”

“I trust that you’ve already done due diligence in questioning her,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll meet instead with the Gatekeeper, tell him to keep his eyes peeled for anyone that might be trying to slip in with the returning caravans.” She hesitated. “You wouldn’t happen to have any idea what the Agarthans’ plans are yet, do you?”

“I expect they’re after the Chalice,” Yuri said, “though  _ how _ they expect to retrieve it…” He trailed off.

“We’ll just double down on our security traps,” Balthus finished firmly.

Yuri grinned. “And wait for them to show their hand.”

* * *

What should have been the brief window for festivity, celebrating the victory they had in ending Fodlan’s civil war and uniting the country under a single banner, was tarnished by the weight of impending attack. “The best defense is a good offense,” her father had taught her once, but Byleth was now finding herself lying in wait on the wrong side of the adage.

“When I’m caught in it, I always find the anticipation of battle the hardest part,” Seteth mused as they oversaw the import of supplies and weapons together. “Until that moment when lances are drawn, and suddenly I wish that I could instead be merely anticipating the battle for a day longer.”

Byleth understood. Every battle was the same: once she swung her sword for the first time, she was reminded - confidently - that she was a  _ fighter _ . She’d mastered her footwork before she’d mastered reading. She’d held her blade for so much of her life that it was  _ more _ than just an extension of her body, it was a  _ part _ of it - and she profoundly felt its loss when she had to go without it. She was bred for battle, and she would die with her sword in hand, if she had her way.

It was the seconds that led up to that first swing of the sword that were the worst, holding her place in line with perfect stance, wondering if this charge would be her last.

She hadn’t, however, expected Seteth to agree.

“You are a man of preparation,” Byleth said. “I’m surprised you don’t find the anticipation of battle more productive.”

Seteth smiled. “The preparation came from years of practice, born from a will to invest the nerves  _ into _ productivity.”

Sometimes, Byleth wondered how old Seteth and Flayn really were, from the comments that they let slip. But she’d never cared about age enough to pry - heavens only knew how tired  _ she _ was dealing with others’ surprise that she didn’t care to keep track of her own age - so she said instead, “So you were a man of impulse once?”

“You would not believe it,” Seteth said, “but once I was more like Felix.”

Seteth was right. Byleth would  _ not _ believe it.

“Felix?” she couldn’t help but echo incredulously.

She won a chuckle out of him. “We were, of course, not the  _ exact _ same,” he allowed. “Perhaps it is better said that one of my friends was more similar. But I had suffered a tragic loss in my early years. Some might have described me as  _ stern _ , but that is a kinder term for what it was: I was filled with a righteous anger at the injustice of the loss. I distrusted the world that had wronged me, and I turned to my lance in response. It took time - and the support of friends - to coax me into recalling the ways of compassion.” He paused, considering. “Though I recall that I did you disservice by distrusting you when we met. Forgive me. It seems that I still have a ways to learn.”

“Don’t,” Byleth said quickly. “Feel sorry, I mean.” In the past year of working together, Byleth had learned more of Seteth, like how he detested the book  _ Legends of Chivalry _ that Ashe always carried around. But she’d never yet confessed that his distrust in her was precisely why she’d always respected him. “To be honest, when everyone else was pushing me to become a professor… I thought you were the only one who made any sense.”

“Oh?” Seteth’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I am thankful now,” Byleth said, “but I had no great interest in being a professor at the time, nor the experience. Or credentials, besides my father.” She paused as a past conversation wormed its way to the forefront of her mind, and she frowned. “Though you once implied that you learned something of my identity,” Byleth said slowly. “What was it?”

Seteth pursed his lips, watching the merchants load a crate of black sand steel. “I had hoped that Rhea would be present for this conversation,” he said finally, “but considering the circumstances…” He sighed, turning to meet Byleth. “I was not around when your father was first employed with the Knights of Seiros, but I understand your mother was a nun here. Her name was Sitri. She was Rhea’s…”

He trailed off, struggling to find the words, and Byleth held her breath.  _ Sitri _ . She’d read the name on the gravestone, but she’d been unable to find any record of a Sitri in the monastery library.

“Rhea is responsible for your existence,” he said at last. He looked on the verge to say something more, but then his attention was caught on something beyond Byleth’s shoulder that caused his brow to furrow. “Fidget?”

Byleth turned - and indeed there Fidget was, approaching them with a sheepish grin. “Heard y’all defeated the emperor,” he said. “It’s big news, down there. Came to offer my congratulations.”

“Big news?” Byleth repeated. More like  _ expected _ news, considering how little Those Who Slither did to help the emperor’s cause. “I can’t imagine it was an upset, given their absence in the fighting.”

Fidget shrugged. “Still big. Besides, they don’t like me enough to let me in on the  _ why _ of anything. Maybe they thought they could keep their identity secret a little longer.”

Byleth nodded. She supposed that made sense - that the Agarthans might have been conservative in showing their hand, not realizing that Garreg Mach had Fidget in its pocket.

“You came at a good time,” Seteth admitted before dropping his voice slightly. “We are expecting an imminent attack - perhaps you might shed some light for us.”

“What? I just got here and it’s already straight to work? No  _ welcome back from that hellhole, glad to see you? _ ” Fidget protested, affronted.

“Welcome back from that hellhole, glad to see you,” Byleth offered dryly, but when she noticed that his muscle spasms now were worse than she remembered, she softened. No doubt the job they’d assigned him was putting him through undue stress. “We should probably finish our resupply work here, but how about some whiskey afterwards?”

“Whiskey?” Seteth said skeptically, turning his gaze skyward to measure the sun. “It’s barely afternoon.”

Byleth shrugged. “Fidget hates tea,” she pointed out.  _ And so did she _ .

“Whiskey,” Fidget said affirmatively, clapping his hands together. “Now  _ that’s _ the welcome back language I was looking for.”

* * *

It was, shockingly,  _ more _ difficult to concentrate in a meeting with the man she was - courting?  _ They should probably have a conversation about precisely what it was that they were doing  _ \- as compared to focusing in a meeting with the man she was pining after.

Because now her gaze was more freely being drawn to his end the table, and he seemed to be looking back at  _ her _ more often, too - and then he’d smile, and she’d  _ remember _ the other things those lips had done, and how maybe later she might persuade him to do all those things to her again, and the way his eyes would light up told her that  _ he knew exactly what she was thinking about _ -

And… she had just lost track of the conversation again.

“It’s the Chalice,” Fidget confirmed to the group at large. “They want it. I think my mentioning its resurrection powers really sold it to them, for what it’s worth. Now, I don’t know  _ who _ they’re looking to resurrect, but if it’s someone more terrifying than the late Emperor Edelgard, then I’m thinking maybe I don’t want to know.”

“Maybe it’s not  _ someone _ , but  _ someones _ ,” Claude said suddenly, putting an emphasis on the plural - and  _ fuck _ , now Byleth was looking at Claude  _ again _ , and the whisper of  _ I love you, with everything I am _ was running through her mind, inciting a infuriating giddiness inside her which was utterly  _ inappropriate _ for a war meeting. “Why would they care about who lives and dies in war, if they believe they have the power to bring back all of the dead to fight for them?”

Well, that was a horrifying thought that efficiently quelled the giddiness that she had tried so hard earlier to quash.  _ What _ was going on in that mind of his?

“But the Chalice of Beginnings wasn’t designed to resurrect in bulk,” Seteth said, frowning. “And in truth, there is no documented history of the Chalice ever successfully resurrecting anyone.”

“Suppose they don’t know that, or that they think they’ve found a way to use the Chalice for their purposes,” Claude said impatiently. “I’m saying it’s a  _ possibility _ .”

Yuri tapped a finger against his jawline in thought. “The  _ why _ of it isn’t immediately pressing, however,” he pointed out, before turning to face Fidget. “The  _ when _ and  _ how _ of it is. You say they’re going to take the Chalice? How?”

Fidget studied Yuri for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I don’t know the details, but I know this. They won’t be infiltrating the same way they infiltrated the monastery in the past by wearing the faces of people you trust. They believe you’ll be expecting that, and they figure they’ve already played that hand.”

Byleth exhaled slowly, releasing a tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. That would be a relief, not having to second guess everything her allies said on the chance that they might have been somehow compromised. “So, what, if not impersonation?”

Fidget shrugged. “I know Thales has been summoning all of the scariest looking people recently, so I assume he’s putting together some sort of heist team. That’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s good,” Yuri said, sending a nod of approval Fidget’s way. “We’ve narrowed it down to a heist team, which we can deal with. Any window of when this might occur?”

“Soon,” Fidget said, “but expect you have already figured that one out. I doubt it’s tomorrow, but expect it in the course of a week, I’d say.”

They ran Fidget dry of whatever information he had, while Fidget seemed to be trying his best to run Byleth dry of the whiskey she had left remaining. And Byleth had been temporarily caught by the muscle definition in Claude’s forearms that had been revealed by his rolled-up sleeves, so she hadn’t noticed that everyone else had begun filing out of the room at the meeting’s conclusion.

Fidget stepped into her peripheral, and she spun to find that near everyone else had already left. Claude was the last who remained, sending her a wink and a coy smile from behind Fidget before spinning out of the room.

She turned back to Fidget, hoping that her distraction wasn’t too obvious.

But Fidget seemed fully distracted himself, wrestling with something internal to him, and he didn’t go for the easy tease that had just been served up to him on a golden platter.

“Countess,” he managed at last. “You know, it really is hell down there. For my own sanity - would you mind showing me the guard rails you have all put in place around the Chalice? I’m sure you’ve all got it down, but I just - I just want to see it with my own eyes. I’d sleep easier knowing that it’s impossible for them to retrieve the Chalice, rather than just hoping it.”

His wrist twitched, and Byleth felt a pang of compassion, seeing the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

“Of course, Fidget,” she said softly. “I’ll show you.”

* * *

In the evening, Claude found a way to creep into her room - but not nearly well enough, as the creaking door gave him away.

And the  _ unanticipated _ creak of the door triggered Byleth’s reflexes, and before she realized that it was only Claude, her dagger had already left her hand and was sailing to meet its mark -

... _ just _ above Claude’s head, a few inches shy of shortening a few of his hairs, as he ducked under the blade just in time.

Byleth stared blankly at Claude, and he stared blankly back.

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Claude said finally, arching his eyebrows and being entirely too nonchalant considering how close he’d been to having a dagger in the face. “Hasn’t even been a day. Must be some kind of record for that.”

“I almost killed you,” Byleth said, still stunned by his sudden appearance. “You should’ve knocked.”

“I don’t know about almost  _ killing  _ me,” Claude retorted. “Almost gave me a closer shave than I wanted, sure - but have  _ some _ respect for my reflexes, Teach.”

“You could still  _ knock _ ,” Byleth insisted. She’d almost  _ killed _ him - or at the very least, harmed him. They had enough to worry about in this war  _ without _ any friendly fire. Nevermind her ability to turn back time -  _ he _ didn’t know she had the power, and he  _ shouldn’t _ be so flippant about potential injury. Because, she worried, that attitude might one day get him  _ hurt _ , and if she weren’t around - she couldn’t - “What were you thinking?”

“I told you I’d wake up to you every morning if I could,” he said easily, not at all put off by Byleth’s scowl. His smile was boyish and erased some of the tired lines that war had prematurely set in the corner of his eyes. “I was thinking that it would be a bad start to our relationship if I’ve failed on that front on just the second day.”

_ Relationship _ . 

Byleth faltered on the word, momentarily forgetting about his absolute  _ impudence _ at trying to sneak into her room unannounced and almost getting killed in the process.

He said -  _ relationship _ .

In retrospect, Byleth wasn’t sure why she hadn’t been able to quantify whatever it was she had with Claude. She’d known there was  _ something _ , but perhaps she was hesitant to assume because she’d never technically  _ been _ in a romantic relationship before - at least, none that  _ meant _ anything, because in her previous sexual dalliances, her fancies had never approached anything close to love.

But to hear Claude label them as being in a relationship with all of his confidence - it was like - like - like she’d been hired for a particularly delicate mercenary job and had to puzzle out some novel and clever strategy to manage it. Like she’d been gifted a fine, foreign sword with which she could practice unfamiliar techniques.

It was strange, and -  _ exciting. _

“Besides, my academy professor trained me too well to be felled by a stray dagger,” he continued flippantly, winking at her - as if charm and compliments could win him forgiveness.

And damn it all.

Because it was  _ working _ .

But there was absolutely no way that Byleth would let him know how easily he’d melted her, so she fixed her face into an impassive façade, folding her arms and  _ waited _ , letting the silence speak for her.

It only took a few breaths before Claude laughed. “All right, all right. You’re stubborn, you know that?” He ducked out of the room, closing the door behind him and, after a beat, knocked. But he didn’t wait for her to let him in before the door swung open wide again and he strode in, waving her dagger at her.

“Found this a few paces outside your door,” he said, tossing her dagger back to her. “What do you make of it?”

“Hmm.” Byleth turned the blade over in a mock inspection. “You don’t think someone might have come here to make an attempt on my life, do you?”

“They’d be sorry if they tried to take you unawares,” Claude said, scratching the back of his head somewhat sheepishly.

Byleth looked up sharply at that.  _ Had _ Claude been meaning to surprise her somehow, and that was why he had tried to sneak into her room earlier?

“Anyway, I saw you playing poker with Fidget earlier,” he commented, easing his way into the room and making himself comfortable on her bed. One day into a relationship, and he was already acting at home in her bedroom, she noticed. Was that normal for relationships, or was that just  _ Claude? _ But, then again - she  _ had _ been the one to invite him to her bedroom almost six years ago and had continued to welcome him ever since. And it felt more natural than not, seeing him in her bed. “Did he notice that there was an Ace missing in the deck?”

“No, actually,” Byleth said, sheathing her dagger before moving to join him on the bed. “I guess a single missing card is easy to overlook in a two player game.” And it was to her advantage, that she had known of the deck’s incompleteness while Fidget did not. “Perhaps I should have adjusted my deck much sooner, when I was teaching you to play.”

Claude eyed her suspiciously. “Are you suggesting that you should have  _ cheated? _ ” he said with exaggerated affront before a pleased smirk overtook his lips. “Now I  _ know _ I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

Byleth frowned, electing not to point out all the ways she’d noticed that  _ her _ habits had started to rub off on  _ him _ . “You’ll have to make up for being a bad influence in other ways,” she supposed instead.

“Oh?” Claude said, shifting closer towards her. “And how can I go about that?”

“The stables need cleaning,” Byleth mused, counting off her fingers. “And there’s rubble that needs to be cleared. And skies that need to be watched.”

He chuckled, eyes soft. “Okay,  _ Teach _ ,” Claude said, brushing the hair from her face and dropping a gentle kiss to her forehead, but by the time he’d pulled back, his gaze bore a devious glint and the edges of his smirk were sharp. “Punish me away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We _officially_ have an outline to carry us to the end of the story! Tell me what you think is up - though I can't say I'll confirm or deny P:
> 
> Love each and every one of you who's made it with me this far, thank you for reading and for your support! <3
> 
> \---------------
> 
> 10.13 update - Updates to this fic are going to be on hold for October and November. Work's really picked up, and between that and hopeful NanoWrimo efforts in November, this fic will be taking a temporary backseat. However, I fully intend to go all in on this fic in December! We're too far along to _not_ finish this story right!
> 
> In the meantime, I did create a Twitter @ https://twitter.com/recipe_stories - I'll post updates, if I remember to, and maybe little story teasers, as an apology for the brief hiatus. But ya know, in Covid time passes weird so I'm sure the next chapter will be here before we know it! Thanks for sticking around :)


End file.
